Who Is Responsible for the Truth?

The effects of the defence agreement between Pakistan and Saudi Arabia were witnessed by the entire world during the recent US-Iran-Israel war. At the same time, there was continuous speculation about whether the scope of this defence agreement could be expanded in the coming days. For years, the defence of major Middle Eastern countries has largely depended on the United States. However, during the recent conflict, the US appeared unable to fully protect either these countries or even some of its own military bases in the region. When Iran attacked Saudi Arabia, Pakistan immediately issued a strong warning, stating that if Iran wanted to protect its own territorial integrity, it should avoid any aggression against Saudi Arabia; otherwise, Pakistan would honour its defence commitments. Soon afterwards, the world witnessed a different situation in areas where Pakistani forces were present. While attacks continued in various parts of the region, areas protected by Pakistani forces experienced a markedly different security environment. Against this backdrop, international newspapers began suggesting that the United States’ influence in the Middle East could be entering a period of decline. As the poet famously said: “Insha Ji, get up and leave now; What is the point of becoming attached to this city?” The peace talks between Iran and the United States, hosted by Pakistan and referred to as the “Islamabad Accord”, created further diplomatic momentum. Shortly after the first meeting, discussions surrounding the Pakistan-Saudi defence agreement began attracting global attention. Influenced by these developments, other countries in the region also started exploring the possibility of joining or cooperating with the defence arrangement. Pakistan is the world’s only nuclear-armed Muslim-majority country. Saudi Arabia is one of the world’s most influential oil-producing states and holds immense religious significance for Muslims worldwide. Türkiye, meanwhile, has established a strong reputation for its drone technology and non-nuclear missile capabilities. The combination of these three countries could have significant strategic consequences for the region. Their growing defence cooperation is unlikely to be viewed favourably by either the United States or Israel. Even before the reported expansion of the defence arrangement, statements from the United States and Israel indicated growing concern. The role of American military bases and radar systems located in several Muslim-majority countries has also come under greater scrutiny, particularly over their alleged role in supporting Israel during the conflict. One US think tank reportedly described the emerging regional landscape as involving two major blocs: a Sunni alliance and a Shia alliance, with Israel and the United States potentially prepared to confront both. Such assessments could be interpreted as an indication of changing strategic dynamics and a possible reduction in American and Israeli influence across parts of the region. As mentioned earlier, several other countries are reportedly watching the development of the Pakistan-Saudi defence partnership closely. Egypt is also said to have participated in preliminary discussions, and its potential inclusion in the future cannot be ruled out. If Egypt joins the arrangement, the strategic balance could become even more significant. Egypt controls the Suez Canal, one of the world’s most important maritime trade routes on which a substantial portion of global commerce depends. It also possesses one of the region’s strongest naval forces and a large fleet of military aircraft. Access to Egyptian territory and strategic waterways could therefore have major implications for the Middle East, Israel and Europe. With Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Türkiye and potentially Egypt forming a broader strategic group, the combined military capabilities of these countries, supported by Saudi Arabia’s enormous energy resources and financial strength, could create a formidable regional bloc. This is one reason why the emerging defence arrangement is increasingly being compared with Article 5 of the NATO treaty. Under Article 5, an armed attack against one NATO member is considered an attack against all members, triggering a collective commitment to assist the country under attack. NATO invoked Article 5 for the first and only time in its history following the terrorist attacks against the United States on September 11, 2001. In the coming days, countries such as Egypt, Bangladesh, Kuwait and Jordan could potentially become part of broader defence cooperation, although their formal participation would depend on future diplomatic and strategic decisions. At present, Israel, the United States, India and Iran all appear to have concerns about the potential consequences of such an alliance. However, the coming months will reveal its actual structure, scope and strategic impact on the region.

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.

Pakistan has just taken on a new kind of commitment, and it has caught people’s attention in a way that ordinary diplomatic announcements rarely do. Pakistan’s ties with Saudi Arabia go back decades, and its defence relationship with Türkiye has grown steadily closer in recent years, so cooperation between the three is not surprising on its own. What is new is the nature of the commitment: an attack on any one of the three countries is now to be treated as an attack on all three.   This is not really about whether Pakistan should be working with Saudi Arabia and Türkiye. It is about whether Islamabad has entered this arrangement with a clear enough sense of what it wants from it, and what obligations it may quietly be creating for the future.   It also helps to get the timeline right. This is not Pakistan’s first mutual-defence commitment with Saudi Arabia. Back in September 2025, the two countries had already signed a Strategic Mutual Defense Agreement, treating aggression against either as aggression against both. What is new in 2026 is the attempt to bring Pakistan, Saudi Arabia and Türkiye together inside one shared framework. Seen that way, this is less a first step and more a new layer added to a relationship that was already forming. An Alliance at a Complicated Moment The agreement comes at a difficult time. Pakistan sits right next to Iran and has a tense relationship with India, while both Saudi Arabia and Türkiye maintain strong economic ties with New Delhi. At the same time, Islamabad has to keep managing working relationships with Iran, China, the United States and its Gulf partners. Any defence commitment, then, has to be understood against several relationships that do not always move in the same direction.   Pakistan is also not entering this alliance from a position of comfort. The country is dealing with economic, security and political pressures all at once, along with instability on its Afghan border and a delicate Iran border to manage. That is a lot to balance already, which is exactly why the practical details of this new commitment matter more than the ceremony around its announcement. What Has Pakistan Actually Committed To? The basic idea is simple: an attack on one member is treated as an attack on all. But what does that actually mean in practice? What would genuinely trigger the commitment, and what military support would Pakistan be expected to give—or receive? And what happens if the three countries find themselves with different interests in the same crisis?   Pakistan’s own Foreign Ministry offered some sense of this in July 2026, saying that agreements of this kind mostly involve peacetime military cooperation, and that in an actual war, how far the commitment would go still needs to be worked out. If anything, that statement makes the case for more clarity, not less.   That uncertainty matters most in two situations close to home. If Pakistan faced another serious confrontation with India, would Saudi Arabia and Türkiye offer real support, given their own important ties to New Delhi? And if tensions with Iran escalated, would Pakistan be expected to take a position that could strain its relationship with its neighbour? Even the growing water dispute with India, one of Pakistan’s most basic security concerns, has not been publicly linked to any shared plan among the three partners. These questions remain open.   There is also a quieter concern worth sitting with. Saudi Arabia brings financial strength to the table, Türkiye brings a growing defence industry, and Pakistan brings manpower, real operational experience and nuclear deterrence. If these strengths are genuinely shared, all three countries could benefit. But if the load falls unevenly, with Pakistan carrying most of the manpower while its own position in a future India crisis stays unclear, the costs could end up outweighing the gains.   History offers a useful reminder here. In his 1983 book Can Pakistan Survive? The Death of a State, Tariq Ali examined Pakistan’s political system, its foreign policy, and the powerful role the military has long played within the state. The circumstances today are very different, but his broader question still feels relevant: can Pakistan turn its usefulness to other powers into lasting strength of its own?   Something else stood out alongside the agreement itself: the mood surrounding it. Governments naturally welcome diplomatic wins, but a defence pact carrying possible wartime obligations is a different kind of agreement than a trade deal. With so many practical details still unclear, the celebratory tone raises a fair question: is this a carefully thought-through long-term strategy, or mostly the excitement of the moment? Commitments this serious deserve a clear explanation before they deserve applause.   Pakistan must also make sure its growing ties with Saudi Arabia and Türkiye stay compatible with its long-standing relationship with China, and with the working relations it still needs with Iran and the United States. Strategic Relevance Is Not Strategic Autonomy Pakistan is becoming more important to other countries. Its military strength, its geography, its nuclear deterrence, and its relationships across very different global camps all give Islamabad real value in the eyes of others. But being useful to other countries is not the same as having a clear strategy of your own.   Strategic autonomy simply means that Pakistan knows what it wants and makes sure its partnerships actually serve that. It means asking not only what Saudi Arabia, Türkiye, China or the United States want from Pakistan, but what Pakistan wants from each of them in return. A country can be militarily valuable, geographically important and courted by several powers, and still have no defined national strategy behind it. That difference sits at the heart of this entire discussion.   Washington’s fairly quiet response also deserves attention. There is no evidence that the United States is deliberately setting a trap for Pakistan. But Islamabad should still think carefully about whether a closer Saudi-Pakistani security relationship could, over time,

When France first levied a 3% tax on the domestic revenues of large technology companies in 2019, the move was presented as a modest, temporary fix. Five years later, the temporary fix has become a global patchwork. More than 20 countries now operate some form of digital services tax, the United States has threatened retaliatory tariffs, and the multilateral replacement intended to tidy it all up remains unsigned.   The question at the heart of the scramble is disarmingly simple and technically complex: where should a company that sells everywhere but is physically located almost nowhere pay its taxes?   For most of the last century, international tax rules rested on physical presence. A company was taxed where it had offices, factories, or personnel. That principle struggled as companies like Google, Amazon, and Meta built business models in which value is derived from users, data, and online advertising in one country, while profits are booked in another, often lower-tax, jurisdiction.   The scale of the mismatch sharpened after the 2008 financial crisis. The Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) launched its Base Erosion and Profit Shifting (BEPS) project in 2013, estimating that profit-shifting cost governments $100 billion to $240 billion annually in lost revenue. By 2018, public pressure to act on highly visible technology firms accelerated political timelines faster than the OECD process could move.   The result was the rise of the unilateral digital services tax, or DST.   Unlike corporate income taxes, DSTs are typically levied on gross revenues, not profits, generated from specific digital activities online marketplaces, search engines, social media platforms, and targeted advertising within a country’s borders. Rates are low, generally 2% to 5%, but they apply broadly. The United Kingdom’s 2% DST raised over £800 million in 2024-25. France, Italy, Spain, Austria, India, Turkey and others adopted similar measures, each with slightly different thresholds, definitions, and scopes.   Proponents argue DSTs restore a basic link between economic activity and taxation. “If a platform earns substantial revenue from French users watching French ads, the French tax base should reflect that,” a senior official at the French Ministry of Finance said in 2023. For many developing economies, where consumption of digital services is large but physical presence of providers is minimal, DSTs are also a matter of fiscal sovereignty.   Critics, including the technology companies themselves and the U.S. government, point to three problems. First, taxing revenue rather than profit can penalize low-margin businesses and be passed on to small businesses and consumers who use the platforms. Second, the proliferation of different rules creates compliance complexity and the risk of double taxation, where the same income is taxed in multiple jurisdictions. Third, Washington has long argued DSTs are discriminatory by design, targeting predominantly American firms.   That third argument carried trade consequences. Under Section 301 of the U.S. Trade Act, the Office of the U.S. Trade Representative (USTR) investigated DSTs adopted by France, India, Italy, and others, concluding that several did discriminate against U.S. companies. Tariffs of up to 25% on selected imports were prepared, then suspended pending a global deal.   That deal was meant to be Pillar One.   In October 2021, 136 countries and jurisdictions representing more than 90% of global GDP agreed to a two-pillar framework brokered by the OECD/G20 Inclusive Framework. Pillar Two, a 15% global minimum corporate tax, has largely moved forward and is now in force in dozens of countries. Pillar One is the more ambitious and more fragile.   Under Pillar One’s Amount A, a portion of the residual profits of the world’s largest and most profitable multinationals  those with global turnover above €20 billion and profitability above 10% would be reallocated to market jurisdictions where their customers and users are located, regardless of physical presence. The scope was deliberately expanded beyond tech; excluding extractive industries and regulated financial services, it would cover roughly 100 multinationals across sectors.   In exchange, countries would be required to withdraw DSTs and similar measures and commit not to introduce new ones. A Multilateral Convention (MLC) would implement the rules, replacing a web of unilateral taxes with a single, coordinated mechanism. The OECD estimated in 2023 that Pillar One would reallocate $200 billion in profits and generate $13 billion to $36 billion in additional global tax revenue annually, a figure comparable in aggregate to existing DST receipts, though distribution would differ markedly by country.   Negotiations have since slowed. The original goal of signing the MLC in 2023 was missed. A target for 2024 was also missed. In 2025 and early 2026, several governments, including the UK, revised their internal planning assumptions to 2027, while confirming that their DSTs “remain in operation” until a convention enters into force.   Several factors explain the delay. The convention requires ratification, including in the United States, where any tax treaty must secure a two-thirds majority in the Senate. Bipartisan skepticism about ceding taxing rights and concerns about revenue impacts have made ratification uncertain. Some emerging economies have argued that the thresholds for Pillar One are too high and the reallocation too small to benefit them meaningfully, preferring instead to retain DSTs or pursue a parallel negotiation at the United Nations on international tax cooperation that could run until 2027. In Washington, meanwhile, successive administrations have maintained that any acceptable deal must include robust DST withdrawal provisions.   The result is a holding pattern with real costs. In October 2021, Austria, France, Italy, Spain, the UK and the United States announced a transitional agreement: as long as Pillar One progressed, the U.S. would not impose retaliatory tariffs, and European DST liabilities would be creditable against future Pillar One obligations. That truce has largely held, but it depends on continued progress.   For businesses, the uncertainty complicates planning. A multinational may face a DST in India, a diverted profits tax in the UK, a Pillar Two top-up in the EU, and the prospect of Pillar One reallocation all with different calculation bases and documentation requirements.

Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai was one of the most multifaceted poets of the subcontinent. The scope of his poetry covers various areas such as peace, humanity, humility, spirituality, patriotism, patience, struggle, and many other important aspects of human life. The light of his poetry reaches the minds and souls of people belonging to different walks of life. Latif was born in a period when Persian was the official language and was also the language of poetry and other means of expression. However, he broke the chains of tradition, put aside the fear of social conventions, and used Sindhi instead of Persian as the medium of his poetry. His narrative reinforces the idea that one should prefer native and indigenous languages to foreign ones, because one’s identity and cultural association are linked with indigenous languages. He does not mean to disrespect Persian; rather, he intends to reinforce the significance of native languages. Patriotism was one of the important themes of Latif’s poetry. Sur Marvi is a testament to his inner feelings about the homeland and the deep love attached to it. According to the story, when Marvi was allegedly kidnapped by Umar, the ruler of the time, and brought to his grand palace, she rejected the luxuries and comforts of the palace. Instead, she requested Umar to return her to Malir, her homeland. Marvi tells Umar that if she dies in imprisonment, her dead body should be sent back to her beloved parents, ancestors, and the land of Malir. Even after her demise, reaching her homeland would bring comfort and peace to her soul. She wishes to be buried among the fragrant herbs and plants of her beloved land. This symbolises love, simplicity, and attachment to the homeland and its people. It shows that despite achieving all worldly luxuries and privileges, a person with a true conscience desires to return to their native land. For Latif, love for the homeland is more than a feeling or a sense of belonging. It is an attachment to one’s identity, culture, and indigenous roots. Therefore, Marvi does not care about worldly luxuries but desires to return to Malir, which may be simple but possesses natural beauty, pure love, and the affection of relatives and fellow beings. For Marvi, her homeland Malir is superior and matchless. In Sur Sarang, Latif discusses rain and the prosperity that follows rainfall through agriculture, irrigation, and the grazing of domestic animals and livestock. Latif describes Thar as a thirsty land that has always longed for rain and showers because the sustainability of Thar depends upon rainfall. The dark clouds over Thar bring excitement and happiness, not only to the poor people but also to their livestock. For the rain-thirsty region of Thar, rain indicates the hope of prosperity. After rainfall, lands are cultivated, animals are kept in homes, and people experience prosperity. This reflects the deep association between humans and nature and shows how people keep high hopes from natural blessings such as rain. Latif’s poetry does not only confine itself to love, peace, and patriotism; patience, humanity, self-surrender, and contentment with minimum means are also significant themes of his poetry. He emphasises the purity and piousness of the inner soul and encourages people to sacrifice worldly desires to elevate their inner selves. During the British era, many British officers posted in Sindh recognised the greatness of Shah Abdul Latif’s poetry and paid tribute to him. Writers and scholars such as H.T. Sorley considered him one of the great poets of the world. Through their contributions, they tried to promote and spread Latif’s message of love, peace, humanity, brotherhood, and tolerance. They observed that although Latif’s poetry apparently covers regional issues and feelings, its thoughts and expressions are universal and comparable with the works of internationally recognised poets. While talking about the concept of the Lord, Latif explains that apparently there seems to be one palace having hundreds of thousands of doors and countless windows. Wherever one looks, one can see the presence of the Lord. This indicates that God is omnipresent and can be seen through different forms of His creation and symbols. One of the fundamental aspects of Latif’s poetry is real love and the approach towards the Creator. According to Latif, the initial step to achieve this elevated spiritual status is to become humble, submissive, caring, and kind towards people living on earth. He believes that in order to have access to God, one has to brush aside worldly desires and become humble and devoted. His poetry also contains messages of hope, patience, courage, and adventure. Latif says that those who have the courage and determination to cross rivers of difficulties and hardships will ultimately reach their destination. In his poetry, the river symbolises obstacles and difficult situations that a person faces while struggling to achieve success. Those who are brave enough to face the horrifying waves of difficulties can ultimately cross the river and achieve their goals. Latif also emphasises avoiding excessive desires of the material world. According to him, the way to spiritual elevation is to remain humble, kind, and caring towards the creatures of the Lord. His poetry teaches people that life is temporary and that one must play one’s role positively in this world to achieve success in the spiritual world. Sur Samundi is another important chapter of Latif’s poetry. In this Sur, Latif depicts the life of marine traders, their economic struggles, social issues, and the feelings of their loved ones when these sailors travel through deep seas and remain away from their homes for many months. In this chapter of his poetry, Latif observes that people of the olden days were involved in trade and commerce and lived prosperous lives. These mariners travelled to far off areas and traded various valuable items, including diamonds, pearls, and jewels. They left the comforts and luxuries of their homes because they preferred trade and adventure to a comfortable life. Latif not only highlights the success and struggles of these traders but also

By Mudassar Javed Baryar Avni Doshi, the Booker Prize-shortlisted author of Burnt Sugar, returns with her second novel, The First House, a work that solidifies her reputation as one of the most compelling literary voices of her generation. Doshi, born in New Jersey in 1982, has established herself as a writer who fearlessly dissects the complexities of human relationships, particularly those between mothers and daughters, husbands and wives. Her debut was lauded for its unflinching honesty and lyrical prose, and The First House continues this tradition, offering readers a psychologically penetrating exploration of marriage, identity, and the slow, agonizing process of self-reclamation. The novel centres on an unnamed narrator whose thirteen-year marriage unexpectedly collapses, forcing her to confront not only the immediate devastation of her husband’s departure but also the deeper, more unsettling questions about her past, her family, and the very nature of love and sacrifice. It is a story that is as mythologically rich as it is emotionally devastating, weaving together ancient goddesses, astrological charts, and the relentless cycle of nature to create a profound meditation on what it means to lose everything and find oneself in the process. The First House is a domestic drama steeped in psychological intensity and mythological symbolism, unfolding through the intimate, raw perspective of its unnamed narrator. The story begins with a moment of shattering clarity: her husband enters their bedroom and calmly announces he no longer wishes to be married. From this single, devastating event, the narrative spirals outward, exploring the aftermath of abandonment and the slow, painful process of learning to exist without the structures that once defined her. The plot is not driven by a series of dramatic external events but rather by the protagonist’s internal journey as she grapples with her grief, anger, and profound disorientation. As the narrator struggles to maintain her composure for the sake of her two young daughters, she retreats into the world of astrology, studying birth charts in search of answers or perhaps just patterns that might explain the chaos of her life. She becomes fixated on the figure of Diana, the Roman goddess of the hunt, whose statue stands in her neighbour’s yard—a constant, silent observer of her unravelling. The statue, originally commissioned as a weathervane, becomes a powerful symbol of her own perceived powerlessness and the indignity of being turned by forces beyond one’s control. The novel also weaves in the emergence of periodical cicadas, whose seventeen-year life cycles of subterranean dormancy and explosive, noisy mating serve as a metaphor for hidden growth, suppressed desire, and the inevitable transformations that drive all living things. The setting, a seemingly placid suburban landscape, contrasts sharply with the internal turmoil of the protagonist. Her world shrinks to the confines of her home, her fraught relationships with her parents, and her complicated, long-estranged relationship with her sister, Didi. The central conflict is her struggle to maintain a sense of self—to keep her head, as it were, while her life is dismantled piece by piece. As she navigates financial instability, the practical challenges of single parenthood, and the humiliation of being left, she is forced to confront uncomfortable truths about her marriage and herself. The novel is ultimately a story about the stories we tell ourselves to survive, and what happens when those narratives collapse. Doshi uses the themes of loss, betrayal, and self-reclamation to explore how we construct our identities through relationships and what remains when those structures are removed. The true power of The First House lies in Doshi’s extraordinary prose and the depth of her protagonist’s consciousness. The author crafts a narrative that is brutally honest, often uncomfortable, and deeply insightful into the psychology of a woman in crisis. The writing itself is a masterclass in showing, not telling; the reader feels the protagonist’s disorientation, her rising panic, and her eventual, hard-won clarity through the rhythm of the language and the accumulation of powerful, visceral details. Doshi has a remarkable ability to render complex emotional states with precision and economy, making the reader feel as though they are living inside the narrator’s mind. The novel’s structure, which moves between present-day events and memories of the past, creates a rich, layered portrait of a life that feels both specific and universal. One of the most compelling characters is the narrator herself. Her voice is raw, intelligent, and often unflattering, yet it is this very honesty that makes her so resonant. She is not a passive victim; she is a woman capable of sharp observation and deep self-criticism, which makes her journey of self-discovery all the more moving. For instance, her admission that she sometimes resented the intrusion of her family on her writing time, or her complex feelings of love and resentment towards her children, are depicted with a startling authenticity that challenges romanticized notions of motherhood. A specific example of her compelling development is her relationship with the act of writing itself. Initially a source of guilt and a symbol of what she has lost, writing gradually becomes a tool for her reclamation, a way for her to”re-collect”herself and her story. Her growing awareness of her own complicity in the failure of her marriage, and her willingness to examine her own flaws, makes her a deeply sympathetic and profoundly human character. Another exceptionally compelling aspect of the novel is the storyline involving the Diana statue and the cicadas. Doshi masterfully uses these elements not as mere decorative motifs, but as integral parts of the narrative’s thematic architecture. The statue of Diana, a representation of a powerful, self-possessed female deity, becomes a haunting presence throughout the novel, a mirror for the narrator’s own lost power and a link to her past self. The story of Diana’s commissioning as a weathervane, a great goddess forced to turn at the whim of the wind, becomes a potent symbol for the diminishment the protagonist feels in her marriage and society at large. The revelation of the architect’s violent death at the foot of the statue adds