The Door That Once Slammed in Europe is Now Echoin…

When rain descends from the folds of clouds, it assumes the form of divine mercy for the earth—reviving parched soil and spreading smiles across the weary faces of farmers. Yet, when this very rain turns unbridled and the administrative apparatus built to welcome it pulls a heavy shroud of negligence over its eyes, this descent of mercy transforms into a harrowing shape of torment and sudden calamity. Gujrat, a historic and industrial city of Punjab that holds a unique global identity through its civilizational expanse, skilled artisans, and proximity to the Chenab River, presents the terrifying spectacle of a pond and a swamp every monsoon season. Here, urban flooding is no longer merely a climatic accident; rather, it has become a chilling confession of administrative apathy, unscientific planning, and a criminal denial of historical geographical realities. When the hydrological management of cities is evaluated on a global scale, the concepts of “Sponge Cities” are put into practice, but our reality stands in stark opposition. When the state of urban drainage in Gujrat is objectively reviewed through the corridors of history, one’s eyes are opened to the bitter truth that the rulers and elements who dominated this city consciously hollowed out its roots at every level for the gratification of greed. The city’s drainage and sewerage system, in particular, fell prey to the plunder of commission agents belonging to the corruption mafia. It is an immensely agonizing chapter of history that two decades ago, when a renowned international Japanese company completed a detailed survey of Gujrat, officially announced its complete reconstruction on modern lines, and promised a world-class drainage system, the hungry brokers sitting in the echelons of power burnt this magnificent project in the fire of personal lust. The people of Gujrat can never forget the actors who sacrificed the Japanese company’s dream at the altar of kickbacks. Later, when times changed and Chaudhry Pervaiz Elahi assumed the helm of this region as Chief Minister, he released heavy, voluminous funds amounting to billions of rupees to radically improve and modernize Gujrat’s decrepit and worn-out drainage system. Yet the tragedy was that these billions of rupees in Gujrat’s history remained restricted to a few specific and powerful pockets, and to openly divide these funds, the entire system was mortgaged to a fostered contractor mafia. With an exceptionally substandard, superficial, and unprofessional approach, this mafia played a game of window-dressing that instead of fixing Gujrat’s sewerage system, ruined it permanently and turned the entire city into an artificial swamp. Today, the agony of drainage dancing through the city’s streets and roads offers no hope of deliverance from this terrifying urban flood unless a severe accountability of these true, deceitful culprits is carried out. The political leadership that followed also made efforts suited to their respective statures for the betterment of the city; and although their own technical errors consistently hampered this improvement, every resident of Gujrat continues to carry the heavy burden of those primary sinners who devastated Gujrat’s history, civilization, and urbanity. Last year, when urban flooding once again descended upon the city as a mortal torment, uproar echoed everywhere, the wheel of life halted, and the situation reached a point where the Chief Minister of Punjab had to personally make an emergency visit to Gujrat to rescue the district administration from this storm of incompetence. During this visit, a heavy downpour of announcements and promises took place, accompanied by the release of special funds worth billions for complete and sustainable improvement next year. Despite the sincere efforts and financial provisions of Honorable Maryam Nawaz Sharif, the district administration—entrenched in a colonial mindset—spent all its energies throughout the year on personal image-building and photo sessions rather than the timely completion of this vital sewerage project. As ill luck would have it, as soon as the monsoon season arrived once again this year, the colorful balloon of good governance and claims deflated entirely, exposing the bitter reality that this malaise of flawed planning persists and rainwater continues to rain down as a torment upon citizens’ lives. And when this rainwater has already devastated citizens’ lives, wounding their homes and businesses, only then do the traditional efforts of WASA and district institutions begin to bear fruit, with water finally receding from the streets after prolonged suffering. Success drums are then beaten over this very temporary performance, adding salt to the injuries of the citizens. A profound study of Gujrat’s urban geography reveals that its foundations and topography are deeply embedded in its centuries-old historical backdrop. Built during the Mughal era, the Akbari Fort serves as the greatest metaphor for the region’s military, political, and administrative history. Viewed from a geographical and topographical standpoint, the Akbari Fort is situated on a relatively high mound or plateau, and the city’s older structural layout spreads outward from this height in gradual slopes in all directions. Principally and naturally, this elevation of the fort and the surrounding natural slopes should have stood as an exceptional geographical blessing for a drainage system—provided the natural pathways of water flow had been preserved and left unmolested by grotesque tampering. The tragedy, however, is that over time, unbridled urban expansion and a flood of encroachments mutilated this natural sloping system so ruthlessly that today, that very height and slope have turned into a bane for the city. Unchecked commercialization and illegal constructions in and around the Akbari Fort and its adjoining low-lying areas have blocked all traditional water routes in such a manner that water finds no outlet. The consequence is that when rainwater flows down from the elevated parts of the fort, instead of finding an open path or paved drain ahead, it encounters dead alleys, narrow sewage pipelines, and an endless siege of encroachments. Consequently, this water accumulates in lower regions to form a permanent lake, leaving city residents weeping over their helplessness. Gujrat’s tragedy is not merely the accumulation of rainwater; it is a reflection of that collective apathy and corruption which wakes up with the arrival

I have lived long enough, and travelled enough, to know that a buggy ride is royal. This week, a buggy ride was held in Islamabad and that ride has become a centre of all drawing room discussions. Let me start with what I have seen with my own eyes, many times over, on the streets of London. I walk those streets often, and I see mounted police there almost every week. Big handsome horses, officers sitting tall in the saddle, moving through crowds at football matches, at protests, at royal parades. But here is the thing I want you to notice. Those horses are working. The officer on that horse is doing a job. He is controlling a crowd, keeping an eye on trouble, making sure that thousands of people move safely through narrow streets. Nobody in London looks at a mounted police officer and thinks of him as a king. They think of him as a policeman who happens to have four legs helping him do his job better than two legs could. Then there is the other side of the horse story in London, the royal family. Once or twice a year, you will see the King or a prince ride out in a grand carriage, gold trim, footmen in uniform, the whole show. And it is exactly that, a show. It is theatre, built on centuries of tradition, and everybody watching knows exactly what it is. Royalty is a different breed. Nobody expects the King to explain why he has running water or why the country’s roads have potholes. He was born into that role, and the carriage is part of a costume that comes with the job. People do not confuse that costume with the daily business of government. Now bring me back home, to Islamabad, on our own Independence Day. I watched the video like everybody else did. The chairman of the Capital Development Authority and the inspector general riding in a horse drawn carriage, arriving grandly at the ceremony. And I felt they were not kings. This was not centuries of tradition. This was a serving civil servant and a serving police officer, the very same officers who are supposed to answer to the public every single day, arriving like they were opening a coronation. Interior Minister Mohsin Naqvi explains the story behind that ride. He said what happened was not appropriate, but insisted it was not the fault of the IG or the chief commissioner. He says that he and the chief guest were delayed because of the president’s meeting with the prime minister, and that the crowd had been waiting since five in the evening. Around six, when it was clear they would be late, he says he told the officers to start the programme so the public would not have to wait any longer. The buggy, he said, had been arranged for the chief guest, and the officers were only supposed to ride with him, but due to unavoidable circumstances they ended up using it alone. He added that both officers had initially resisted starting the program without him, and that he personally instructed them to proceed, for the convenience of the public. I keep thinking about that journalist who asked a simple, honest question. Have you ever seen the police commissioner of London ride around in a royal buggy? The answer, of course, is no. Because he knows his job is to serve, not to be served. That is the whole difference in one sentence. A horse carriage is a fine thing, in the right hands, for the right reason. In London, it either works, or it performs. In Islamabad this week, it did neither. It simply left a bad taste in everybody’s mouth.

(When the water rises, who shows up and who is left waiting?) ‎I live in Sabzazar, a neighborhood in Lahore, Pakistan, but part of my heart is always sitting along the banks of the Moxahala Creek back home in Southeast Ohio. When the water rises in Muskingum County or the Punjab plains, who shows up, and who is left waiting? I live in Sabzazar, a neighborhood in Lahore, Pakistan, but part of my heart is always sitting along the banks of the Moxahala Creek back home in Southeast Ohio. ‎ ‎My mother and brother still live right near South Zanesville, just a stone’s throw from Crooksville. When heavy rains hit Perry and Muskingum counties, I don’t need to be there to know what it looks like. I can picture the heavy, chocolate-brown water backing up into the low spots, the damp chill that settles into a basement, the fears of what if the waters reach a house trailer, and that specific, exhausting smell of river mud that takes weeks to scrub out of porch boards and carpet. The worries of if the home has structural damage.. Halfway across the world in Pakistan, the landscape couldn’t look more different. But when monsoon season swells the rivers across the Punjab, the view from the ground is hauntingly identical. ‎ ‎Standing in a flooded doorway feels the same whether you are in Ohio or Lahore. The quiet shock is the same. The ruin of things you worked years to buy is the same. And the very first instinct is to grab your coat, shovel, a chainsaw and a pair of boots and go check on the elderly woman next door.. Start hauling wet furniture, debris to the curb and giving comfort, food and basics to those in need is entirely universal. Watching both worlds at once makes you look at governance differently. It strips away abstract political jargon and leaves you asking one fundamental question: When a community is hit with a crisis, does its system build capable people who can act, or does it leave them sitting on their hands, waiting for permission to survive? ‎ ‎What a Small Ohio Village Taught Me About Governance ‎ ‎Growing up around South Zanesville and Crooksville, you learn pretty early that small-town life relies on a very specific kind of quiet, distributed agency. ‎Crooksville isn’t a rich town. It’s a hard-working Appalachian village of under 1,500 people. But when the creek overflows, nobody sits around waiting for a press conference out of Washington, D.C., or a mandate from the state capital in Columbus. ‎ ‎The response moves in waves because the connections are already wired: ‎On the local levels we see neighbor checks on neighbor. The volunteer fire department turns on the sirens, pulls out the high-water gear, and starts the door to door knocks. At the County level we have the Perry County 911 dispatch and Emergency Management Agency (EMA) start tracking water levels and routing equipment where it’s needed most. At the State level, If the county gets overwhelmed, pre set legal triggers immediately call in the Ohio EMA or the National Guard. ‎ ‎Government here doesn’t replace the community’s instinct to help itself; it validates it, organizes it, and backs it up with real resources. The system trusts the people on the ground to know their own roads. Here in Pakistan, the human spirit is just as generous, if not more so. The impulse toward hospitality, neighborly charity, and mutual support runs incredibly deep. When disaster strikes, ordinary citizens open their wallets and their homes without a second thought. It’s just what they do… ‎ ‎And Pakistan’s has one of the world’s top class military engineering, a massive national disaster agency (the NDMA), and incredible private charities. The raw capacity is immense. Yet, too often, there is a however a very heartbreaking disconnect between that high-level power and the family standing in ankle deep water in a local neighborhood. An ordinary citizen here once described the country to me using a metaphor I’ve never forgotten: a child that was never allowed to stand on its own feet. An infant isn’t helpless because it lacks potential. It’s helpless because it hasn’t been given the space to build muscle, fall over, adjust its balance, and try again. If an authority figure picks the child up every single time it tries to pull itself up, the child never learns to walk—not from a lack of ability, but because the environment denied it the chance to build strength. ‎ ‎That is how systemic learned dependency takes root: Central authorities assume total control, bypassing local municipal councils. Neighborhoods are given no real budget or authority to fix their own drainage or organize local response teams. And when a flood comes, citizens have no choice but to wait for distant, top-down relief. The authorities look at the waiting crowd and say, “See? The people can’t manage without us.” ‎We witness power centralized even further, deepening the exact helplessness it claims to fix. Over generations, people adapt to the system they are given. If a system rewards waiting for a political patron, people learn to wait for patrons. If it rewards local initiative, communities build habits of self-reliance. It is very easy to blame culture or public apathy for civic passivity, but that misses the point entirely. Culture simply reflects the structural incentives people are given to survive and adapt. It is nature vs nurture and we have a break down when these two things fail to promote a cohesiveness and inclusion of what is a community and what that actually means. ‎ ‎Across the globe, the relationship between state control and citizen participation varies wildly, proving that central authority does not have to mean public powerlessness. In China, a deeply centralized state framework actively structures and expects local neighborhood committees and civil volunteer groups to manage community-level crises. Across much of Europe, comprehensive state safety nets exist alongside highly empowered municipal councils and professionalized local volunteer forces.

The preceding part of this series examined a question ordinarily left outside discussions on riba: who should create money? It argued that commercial-bank money creation is not, by itself, riba, but that the power to create purchasing power through credit is a matter of public importance requiring transparency, restraint and accountability. One possible reform is to separate transaction money, fully backed by sovereign money, from funds deliberately committed for investment. That proposition leads to an even more fundamental question. What exactly is a bank deposit? The answer appears obvious only because modern banking has merged several economically different relationships into the same institution. A person places salary in a current account because it must be available tomorrow morning. Another person places accumulated savings with a bank hoping to earn a return over five years. A business maintains money for payroll and suppliers. An investor deliberately commits capital to a project knowing that commercial gain is accompanied by the possibility of loss. Calling all these balances “deposits” conceals distinctions that become crucial in a financial order seeking to eliminate riba. There is a basic difference between money and investment. Money held for payment performs the functions of medium of exchange and store of nominal value. Its owner expects Rs.100 deposited today to remain Rs.100 tomorrow and to be transferable on demand. Investment capital performs another function. It is consciously placed in productive activity in expectation of gain and consequently bears the possibility of commercial loss. One cannot logically demand both absolute safety and entrepreneurial return from the same contractual relationship unless somebody else is made to carry the risk. Islamic jurisprudence recognised these distinctions long before modern banking. Funds entrusted purely for safekeeping can constitute amanah. A trustee does not own them and is not ordinarily liable for loss occurring without negligence or misconduct. Where fungible money is transferred to another person with authority to use it and an obligation to return its equivalent, the relationship acquires the character of qard, or loan. State Bank of Pakistan’s own glossary reflects precisely this reasoning. It describes an amanah as property held in trust and states that current accounts may initially be regarded as trust deposits. Once a bank obtains authority to use current-account funds in its business, however, the relationship becomes a loan because the bank must repay the full amount. This point deserves much greater attention. If a bank accepts Rs.100,000 from a customer, is free to use that money for its own financing operations and remains legally bound to repay Rs.100,000 whenever demanded, the customer is not bearing an investment risk. Whatever terminology appears on the account-opening form, economically the bank has received financing from the customer. No difficulty necessarily arises if the customer receives nothing beyond repayment of the amount advanced. The difficulty arises when banking system treats this repayable-at-par money simultaneously as the raw material from which additional financing and monetary claims can be generated. Part II suggested one possible solution: transaction accounts should be treated entirely differently. A current account used for wages, household expenditure, business payments and ordinary transfers should represent protected transaction money. If such balances are fully backed by sovereign money or central-bank reserves, they need not be exposed to the bank’s commercial financing decisions. The account holder would possess money, not an investment claim upon the success of a bank. The bank would provide custody, payments, transfers, cards, digital access and settlement services. It could legitimately charge transparent fees for those services. What it would not receive is free investment capital merely because citizens require access to a payment system. The consequences are significant. Fully backed transaction accounts would remain available on demand and at par. They would not earn an investment return because their owners have assumed no investment risk. Nor would their repayment depend upon the quality of the bank’s commercial portfolio. This is not merely a theological distinction. Modern central banking itself recognises the peculiar character of bank deposits. The Bank of England recently described commercial-bank deposits as liabilities used as money, expected to be redeemable at par on demand and relied upon as a safe store of value. It contrasted them with investment products whose values fluctuate and whose losses are borne by investors. A riba-free financial system should take that distinction seriously. The second category would consist of genuine investment accounts. Here the relationship is entirely different. A customer does not merely park money awaiting payment instructions. He consciously makes capital available for investment and accepts that lawful profit cannot be separated completely from commercial risk. Mudarabah provides one classical framework. One party supplies capital and the other enterprise and expertise. Profit is divided according to an agreed ratio; financial loss, in the absence of negligence or breach by the manager, falls upon the provider of capital. SBP itself explains Islamic investment deposits on this basis: the depositor acts as rabb-ul-maal and the bank as mudarib. Restricted mudarabah allows the investor to specify where the funds may be deployed; unrestricted mudarabah gives the bank wider investment authority. The principle is straightforward. If the depositor wants profit because capital is being employed commercially, the depositor must understand what capital is doing and what risk attaches to it. This is where present banking practice requires closer examination. Islamic banks commonly pool deposits, calculate weighted-average yields and distribute profits under elaborate regulatory rules. SBP presently prescribes profit-distribution arrangements for savings depositors, including minimum distribution requirements linked to the weighted-average gross yield of the institution. It also permits additional hiba in specified circumstances. These measures protect customers against inequitable allocation of profits by banks. Their consumer-protection purpose is understandable. At the same time, an increasingly managed and smoothed return can create in the depositor’s mind an expectation remarkably similar to a conventional savings rate. The crucial question is not whether the return happens to fluctuate by a few basis points. It is whether the depositor actually bears the economic character of an investor. An investment account should identify the pool in

By Muhammad Imran, Staff Member, SAHSOL-LUMS and Asma Rahmat, Final Year Law Student, SLC, Superior University and Muhammad Ameer Hamza, Final Year Law Student, SLC, Superior University    Historical Evolution and Constitutional Recognition: The right to a fair trial and due process is expressly guaranteed under Article 10A of the Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, 1973, which was inserted through the Constitution (Eighteenth Amendment) Act, 2010. The Eighteenth Amendment was passed by the National Assembly on 8 April 2010, approved by the Senate on 15 April 2010, and received the assent of the President on 19 April 2010, whereupon it came into force. The insertion of Article 10A marked one of the most significant constitutional reforms introduced by the Eighteenth Amendment by expressly recognizing the right to a fair trial and due process as enforceable fundamental rights. Before the insertion of Article 10A, the Constitution did not contain an explicit guarantee of the right to a fair trial. Nevertheless, the superior judiciary consistently interpreted Articles 4, 9, and 25 of the Constitution as implicitly incorporating the principles of natural justice, procedural fairness, and due process. Article 4 guarantees the right of every individual to be dealt with in accordance with law, Article 9 protects the security of person, and Article 25 guarantees equality before the law and equal protection of the law. Through an evolving body of constitutional jurisprudence, the Supreme Court of Pakistan acknowledged that fairness in legal proceedings constituted an indispensable component of the rule of law and the protection of fundamental rights. However, the absence of an express constitutional guarantee often created uncertainty regarding the precise scope and enforceability of these procedural protections. The insertion of Article 10A fundamentally transformed Pakistan’s constitutional framework by elevating the right to a fair trial and due process into an independent and directly enforceable fundamental right. It converted principles previously implied through judicial interpretation into an explicit constitutional mandate, thereby strengthening the protection of individual liberties, reinforcing constitutional supremacy, and enhancing judicial oversight. Moreover, the amendment reflects Pakistan’s commitment to internationally recognized human rights standards, particularly Article 14 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), which guarantees the right to a fair and public hearing by an independent and impartial tribunal. Scope and Nature of Article 10A: Article 10A provides that: “For the determination of his civil rights and obligations or in any criminal charge against him, a person shall be entitled to a fair trial and due process.” The language of Article 10A demonstrates that its protection is not confined to criminal prosecutions. Rather, it extends equally to civil proceedings and all judicial, quasi-judicial, and administrative proceedings in which legal rights and obligations are determined. Consequently, the constitutional guarantee encompasses the entire continuum of justice, including investigation, arrest, detention, prosecution, adjudication, sentencing, appeal, and review. The constitutional requirement of “due process” ensures that every stage of legal proceedings must be conducted in accordance with established legal procedures, free from arbitrariness, discrimination, mala fide exercise of power, or abuse of authority. Essential Components of the Right to Fair Trial: The right to a fair trial under Article 10A embodies a comprehensive set of procedural safeguards that are indispensable for the administration of justice. These include the presumption of innocence until guilt is proved beyond reasonable doubt, the right to be informed promptly and clearly of the accusations, the right to adequate time and facilities to prepare a defence, the right to legal representation by counsel of one’s own choosing, the opportunity to examine and cross-examine witnesses, the right to produce evidence in defence, and the entitlement to a public hearing before an independent, impartial, and competent tribunal established by law. Equally important is the obligation that judicial decisions be reasoned, evidence-based, and transparent. The requirement to provide reasoned judgments promotes accountability, facilitates appellate review, enhances public confidence in the administration of justice, and ensures that justice is not only done but is also manifestly seen to be done. Relationship with Other Constitutional Guarantees: Article 10A does not operate in isolation but forms part of a broader constitutional framework safeguarding individual liberty and procedural justice. Article 4 guarantees that every individual shall be treated strictly in accordance with law, while Article 9 protects the fundamental rights to life and liberty. Article 10 provides specific procedural safeguards relating to arrest and detention, including the right to be informed of the grounds of arrest, the right to consult legal counsel, and the right to be produced before a magistrate within twenty-four hours. Article 25 further guarantees equality before the law and equal protection of the law. Read harmoniously, these constitutional provisions establish an integrated framework designed to prevent arbitrary state action, ensure accountability of public authorities, and uphold fairness throughout the legal process. Judicial Interpretation of Article 10A: The superior judiciary has consistently interpreted Article 10A as embodying both procedural and substantive dimensions of justice. The Supreme Court of Pakistan has repeatedly emphasized that compliance with Article 10A requires more than mere adherence to technical procedural formalities; rather, fairness must permeate every stage of legal proceedings. Investigations, collection of evidence, prosecution, trial, sentencing, and appellate review must all satisfy constitutional standards of due process. The courts have further held that statutory provisions or executive actions inconsistent with Article 10A are subject to constitutional scrutiny and may be declared unconstitutional where they undermine the fundamental right to a fair trial. Consequently, Article 10A has become a cornerstone of Pakistan’s constitutional jurisprudence, guiding judicial review in criminal justice, administrative law, disciplinary proceedings, and civil litigation. Constitutional Significance: The constitutional recognition of the right to a fair trial has significantly strengthened Pakistan’s legal system by providing an effective safeguard against arbitrary exercise of state power. It protects individuals against unlawful convictions, promotes judicial accountability, enhances public confidence in legal institutions, and reinforces the supremacy of the rule of law. Simultaneously, it serves as an important constitutional mechanism for balancing society’s interest in the effective prosecution of crime with the fundamental rights

July 26th marks the birthday of an political prisoner who spend 1.5 decade in prison without conviction meaning he was innocent but was kept in prison unlawfully. But from prison torture cell he stood by the state. He is son of soil. His non-violent legacy is worth following by all political prisoners of world. This is the beauty of the modern world era that you can not hide anything from anyone. Welcome to present world best known as modern world era. This s all about technology and methods of gathering information compiling it and ultimately relaying it in more authenticated way. It took decades to evolve technology from computing, internet, gadgets and mobile revolution to the present world modern world era of artificial intelligence. Gen Z and Gen Alpha highly rely on AI tools. If you go through Google and AI tools and start searching term ‘political prisoners’ then you will find incumbent President of Pakistan Asif Ali Zardari as the one and only political prisoner in the history of world, who spent fourteen years and eight months in prison without any conviction. His tongue was cut and botched attempt was made to cut his neck and throat to kill him. He faced worst third degree torture in prison. He never gave a single call to his party workers to protest or attack the institutes. In 1990s and onwards United Nations Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment (UNCAT) and Tokyo declaration were in place for necessary remedial but kudos to Asif Ali Zardari, he never opt for agitation. Asif Ali Zardari faced all kinds of tortures with patience and bravery and stood by the state of Pakistan under any circumstances, even when his wife two-times prime minister of Pakistan was assassinated in broad daylight in Rawalpindi on December 27, 2007, he gave he hope to nation ‘Pakistan Khappay’ Pakistan Zindabad Pakistan long live. He pledged that He with help of people of Pakistan and state institutions will make greater and stronger Pakistan. In 2008, when Asif Ali Zardari, assumed the charge of Presidency, he forgave all of his enemies and he announced general amnesty for all, in fact he also took initiatives to stop unfair and degrading treatment and third degree torture with others which he faced during his imprisonment. In year 2010, The President of Pakistan, Asif Ali Zardari, ratified the International Covenant of Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) and the UN Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhumane or Degrading Treatment or Punishment (CAT) and later it was his political party Pakistan Peoples Party which brought legislation Torture and Custodial Death (Prevention and Punishment) Act, 2022 to prohibit torture and other acts of cruel, Inhumane and degrading treatment. In year, 2023, It was also Sindh assembly/government to bring the legislation of the medico legal Act 2023. In his previous tenure of Presidency (2008-2013). He saved world from nuclear war in the wake of Mumbai attacks, strengthened ties with china and ensured revival of ties with Russia and Iran and started new era of relations with US and west on the grounds of equality as good friends. And his current tenure of Presidency is more vibrant and productive for people of Pakistan coupled with iron first lady Aseefa Bhutto Zardari’s input. Under his visionary leadership Pakistan is heading towards his dream of Greater Pakistan. May his 71st birthday bring Pakistan prosperity, peace and hub of global economy. Happy birthday Asian Nelson Mandela!