The unforgettable legacy of Raja Mehdi Ali Khan

Many parents give smartphones to their children and a major reason behind this behaviour has now been identified. Parents who experience stress tend to give their children devices to keep them occupied or calm while also being less likely to enforce limits on screen time. A study conducted by the Center for Children and Families at Florida International University included 822 parents raising children between the ages of 4 and 8. The participants provided information through online surveys about their children’s behavior, parental stress and screen-time habits. The findings showed that parents tend to allow their children to use smartphones for longer periods when their children’s behaviour becomes difficult to manage. Researchers said parents should not hesitate to seek support for managing their own stress. They also advised parents to set limits on children’s screen time and provide them with purposeful, age-appropriate content. They emphasized that parents should establish appropriate boundaries and spend quality time with their children to promote a healthy environment. A considerable amount of research has been conducted on children’s excessive smartphone use. A study published in January 2026 explored links between online content and problems related to children’s development. Similarly, research published in BMC Public Health in October 2024 found that spending excessive time in front of screens can have negative effects on mental health. The risk of depression, anxiety, irritability and other problems was particularly higher among children aged 9 and 10. The research found that the more time children spent in front of screens, the more severe their symptoms of depression tended to be. According to the study, activities such as video chatting, watching videos and playing video games were associated with a greater increase in this risk.

By Dr.Sajjad Ali A suffering pervades the walled villages of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, and the privacy of the homes in the city, in a language of suffering all distinct. The language of infertility is not the one used in medical textbooks but it is the one that speaks to life and death in Pashtun society. Being a childless woman is being defined by a lexicon of failure here, a failure that runs against the very ethos of Pashtunwali, where a person’s nasl (lineage) and naam (name) is everything. The condition is identical, but the language employed to use it as a weapon against women and men are very different, very vicious. It is a public indictment to her; a silent, emasculating damnation to him. The Woman’s Cross: The Public Indictment The worthiness of a Pashtun woman is arbitrarily squeezed into her reproductive capability. When she drops the one perceived duty, she is not infertile, she is cursed, useless and dangerous. The attack starts with an endless list of names and peghoor (tease). She is a banjh (barren), the most common and heart-breaking epithet. She is a shana (dry, unfruitful tree that bears no fruit). She is khaanch (empty), a hollow vessel with no substance. The elders of the family complain, “Mata plar na laree, khaanch de” (She hasn’t borne him a son, she is empty). Her body is compared to the barren land of Sheera zameena (salty, infertile land) which nothing can grow, or shara (fallow land). The childless woman or the one whose children have died is generally known as a kheeri, which translates as woman of ill omen, bearer of misfortune. She is slightly banned from being present at weddings or cradles (gharay). When a child is sick after the visit, people begin muttering, “Da kheeri da las na ye bimar sho” (After the touch of the kheeri the child fell sick). This spiritual banishment is so devastating! If her husband returns to marriage, or if the family goes bankrupt, she is considered a shamat (a bad omen, a curse to the family) and a manhoos (inauspicious, unlucky). The psychological take-home message is no less horrifying: she is not only failing to give birth; she is an active, evil agent of birthlessness and death and decay. She’s a curse for their existence. The peghoor is available in a dramatic fashion. A mother-in-law would see a hen with chicks and will loudly cry out, “Da charkha ham bachy kawal, khu da adamzad mung na shwe.” (Even this hen hatched chicks, but this human gave us nothing). Neighbours grumble, ‘Khudai da qahar da, cha ta kho pukha na we (She is God’s wrath, she hasn’t ripened for anybody—to mean that she has not become a mother). A cruel comic scene that is often acted out: The guest exclaims the house is a paradise, and the mother-in-law replies, “Kor kho jannat de, khu khaanch de, khoonda raghlay na de” [The house is a paradise, but it is empty, no fragrance has come into it]—singing about the fragrance of a child which reminds her of something she failed to do with her daughter-in-law. This puts her in an economic hostage position. She is a servile slave to make up for her “defect” because of the ever-present unspoken danger of a balka (co-wife). All the money is spent on her own “cure,” which includes dangerous dai (traditional birth attendant) concoctions, expensive visits to taweez-keeping (piir sahib) and futile taweez (amulet) usage. She will wear a tawiz laced with prayers for fertility and she will be made to drink water that has been washed with a dranzay (a special supplication)—her husband’s diagnosis will not even be suspected. This quest devours the family’s resources, everything aimed at the woman who is in a desperate struggle to remain not the family’s shamat. The Man’s Secret: The Silent Emasculation The man feels that the lack of producing babies is not something he has failed to do biologically, but something he has failed to do as a man. He can’t be brought into pity, because if he is, he’s acknowledging that he lost nang (honour). The words he has to say, the words he is not allowed to say, the words he can’t say at all: his torment is a poison that is surrounded by a wall of aggressive denial, but is intended to un-man him. If he is unable to generate a zo-ye (a son), then he is no longer a sar-ye (a man, a leader). His name is a na-mard, the worst of all names, that of a non-man. He is a susra—an utterly impotent, weakling man, a term of maximum contempt. A khassya (castrated bull, eunuch), who has no power and virility. He is a namardanz (an impotent creature). A popular bit of vicious poetry is: “Dwa kalah ye we-weted, khu goly ye na kholay shwe” (“He tried twice, but not a bud was able to blossom for him”, a poetic and mean way of saying that he was unable to start life. His true trial is in the hujra (man’s assembly). The taunt is never a literal arrow, but an arrow of some sort. A story will be told: “Da kala de, cha tofang walwela, khu dasy nese wa, che laande khassia we” (“There’s a man who wields a big rifle, and makes a lot of noise, but inside, he’s a eunuch”). They all laugh, the childless man is forced to laugh loudest, and the white-hot shame is his. The tale is best told in a popular social media comic strip that shows a doctor showing a semen analysis report to a furiously upset husband with a nervous wife looking on: Panel 1: A doctor shows a semen analysis report to a furious-looking husband, with his wife sitting nervously. The Doctor says, “The report reads: azoospermia.The Doctor says, “The report reads azoospermia. Panel 2: A huge, broken speech bubble bursts out of the husband’s mouth: “Tor! Tor! Sta da peghalay!” (“Lies! “It’s your slander!”)

By Areeba Younis The first rays of sunlight spread across the campus of Yanshan University as students quietly begin another day. Some walk purposefully toward classrooms with books in hand, while others pause beneath tree-lined pathways to enjoy the calm before lectures begin. In the distance, the modern skyline of Qinhuangdao reflects the morning light, while the quiet rhythm of campus life unfolds with remarkable order. For an international student, these seemingly ordinary moments reveal something extraordinary: a place where centuries of cultural heritage and the ambitions of a modern nation exist in harmony. When I first arrived in China from Pakistan, I expected to encounter advanced technology, modern cities, and world-class universities. Those expectations were quickly fulfilled. What I did not anticipate was how naturally tradition and innovation would coexist in everyday life. At Yanshan University, I discovered that China’s progress is not defined by replacing its past but by building upon it. Every day offers new evidence that preserving cultural identity and embracing innovation are not opposing goals—they are complementary forces shaping the country’s future. Walking across campus, I often see students reading beneath ancient-style pavilions before entering laboratories equipped with cutting-edge technology. Traditional Chinese architecture blends seamlessly with modern academic buildings, creating an environment that respects history while encouraging discovery. This balance extends beyond the university itself. Whether observing cultural festivals enthusiastically celebrated by both Chinese and international students or attending lectures on artificial intelligence, engineering, and sustainable development, I have witnessed how the values of the past continue to guide the innovations of tomorrow. The experience extends beyond the classroom. Nearby streets reflect the same remarkable balance. Local restaurants continue to prepare recipes passed down through generations, while customers pay using digital platforms within seconds. Morning markets preserve customs that have connected communities for decades, yet efficient transportation systems, smart city infrastructure, and digital services demonstrate how technological advancement has become part of everyday life. Rather than replacing tradition, innovation appears to strengthen it by making daily life more connected, accessible, and efficient. Yanshan University itself represents this philosophy. Its reputation for excellence in engineering and scientific research reflects China’s commitment to technological advancement, yet the university also places great importance on cultural exchange, community, and mutual respect. As international students, we are encouraged not only to pursue academic success but also to understand Chinese culture through festivals, volunteer activities, language learning, and interactions with local communities. These experiences transform education into something far greater than earning a degree—they become lessons in understanding different perspectives and appreciating shared human values. Living in Qinhuangdao has further deepened this understanding. The city’s coastal beauty, green parks, and historic landmarks exist alongside expanding infrastructure, modern industries, and sustainable urban development. The coexistence of natural landscapes and economic progress reflects a broader vision of development that values both environmental stewardship and long-term prosperity. As someone studying economics and business, I find this balance particularly meaningful because it demonstrates that development can be measured not only by growth but also by the quality of life it creates. Perhaps the greatest lesson I have learned is that China’s future is being built without losing sight of its cultural foundations. Respect for education, family, community, and tradition continues to shape daily life even as technology transforms industries and society. This combination has challenged many of my previous assumptions about modernization. Rather than viewing tradition and innovation as competing forces, I have come to see them as partners in creating resilient and sustainable progress. As the evening lights illuminate the campus and students gather to discuss assignments, share meals, or simply enjoy a walk with friends, Yanshan University becomes more than a place of higher learning. It becomes a meeting point where cultures, ideas, and aspirations come together. Every conversation, every shared experience, and every lesson contributes to a broader understanding that education is not confined to classrooms—it is found in the relationships we build and the perspectives we gain. For me, studying at Yanshan University has been more than an academic journey. It has been an opportunity to witness how a nation can confidently embrace the future while honoring its past. In an increasingly interconnected world, this balance offers an important lesson: true progress is achieved not by abandoning tradition, but by allowing it to inspire innovation. Here, where tradition meets tomorrow, I have found not only a university but also a deeper appreciation of China’s enduring spirit and its vision for the future.

By Syed Hashim Abbas Bukhari  In the age-old debate about the pros and perils of Artificial Intelligence (AI), one of the main stances of the Luddites is the absence of emotions in AI thus making it ill equipped to handle situations requiring empathy and emotional intelligence. However, one could argue that this point of distinction between humans and AI is rapidly vanishing as we witness our younger generation increasingly suffering from the phenomenon of emotional desensitization. Let us take a walk through the realms of social media. When our country was fighting a war, the younger generation was engaged in its own meme war on social media, seemingly unaware of the seriousness and gravity of the situation. Whether the world was on the brink of World War 3, facing a new global pandemic or staring down the barrel of rocketing oil prices, the reaction of the younger generation showed alarming levels of emotional desensitization. Instead of intellectual debates, protests, or striving to find a solution, the younger generation indulges in creating memes designed to generate nothing more than likes, shares, and comments. According to researchers, emotional desensitization is a form of emotional numbing or habituation where a situation that triggered a strong feeling no longer affects you as intensely. This is becoming a rising area of concern for our elders who equate our response to these dire and serious situations as a lack of maturity and emotional sensitivity on our part. The argument presented over here is that owing to our access to endless streams of information our generation should be more emotionally evolved as compared to our predecessors. The reality, however, seems contrary to this belief, as our exposure to warfare, natural disasters, and other calamities increases, our levels of emotional sensitivity has seemingly taken a nosedive. The question that should be raised is whether we should be classified as emotionally desensitized or is it our generation just whistling past the graveyard. It is a basic human psychology that when we experience grief or trauma, which is too much to process, we use various coping mechanisms. For some of us it may be anger, humor, violence or isolation but we all have coping mechanisms enabling us to survive various emotionally charged experiences. A study of social behaviors reveals that with the passage of time we have changed our coping mechanisms. In the past humans used to display their emotional trauma or suffering through anger and sought comfort through social gatherings. In the case of our generation, social media has taken the place of social gatherings, and anger has been replaced with humor. Thus, the endless stream of memes, reels, and shorts on every emotionally charged event.  Our stance on mental health, gender equality, racism, climate change, and countless other previously ignored or snubbed issues prove us to be a more emotionally sensitive and mature generation. We are the generation that believe that actions speak louder than words. We may seem to be whistling past the various graveyards or making light of serious situations but we are the generation that is breaking down the glass ceiling, bringing down the walls of inequality, and trying to build a society that embodies the morals and values of justice, kindness, and integrity for all. With each new generation the prioritization of emotionally sensitive areas may change, the coping mechanisms may be adapted according to the changing environment, or ways to display emotions may evolve but the thing to understand is that we haven’t become emotionally disengaged or desensitized, we are only embracing our emotions in our own distinct way. As Hazrat Ali (AS) said: “Do not force your children to behave like you, for surely they have been created for a time which is different to your time.”