2015 - LGS Paragon

Contents
the editorial board
Content-Writer:
Ali Hafeez
Sub-Editors:
Abdul Mustabeen Javed
Ali Hafeez
Hamass Mujadid
Shawaiz Tabassum
Usama Jillani
Design Team:
Ali Arshad
Zainab Ashraf
Photo Section:
Eman Shah
Tajwar Munir
Taziem Uddin
Special Thanks to:
Ms. Zainab
Ms. Rubab
Ms. Sumaira
Editor-in-chief:
Ali Arshad
origami
2015
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Salman Yasin
Principal
A vision to excel and be the best. A symbol of success, hope, dreams fulfilled
and the promise of even greater things to come – such is what, even now, the mere mention
of the LGS Paragon name evokes.
Though it’s only been a few years since our inception, as it stands, hundreds of ParaKnights
have passed through the hallowed hallways of LGS Paragon. And now it’s your turn, Class of
2013, to exit our gates one last time. To go out into the real world. Some of you will make
a mark in public life, some will become assets to the society that reared them, and more so,
some of you, I’m certain, will be world leaders one day.
Along with you all, I too have learned much from my experience here, as principal. I realised
that each one of you is special, that you are individuals, each in your own right. None of you
are, or ever were, white blank pages, nor would I have had it any other way. In fact, I earnestly
believe that it’s because of all of you, and the individuality you brought to this school, that
has made Paragon what it is today- a place that is filled with memories, some sad, others
joyous, and celebrations that will be remembered forever. That, too, is how long we, as Lahore
Grammar School Paragon, shall exist. Forever.
I don’t believe it’s the beautiful buildings, the football field, the pool, or having the most
sought- after faculty in the region that has made this school the force to be reckoned with
that it is today. But it is because of you, the students, those who’ve left us, and those still here,
whose tireless efforts have helped to put us on the map, and hold our heads up high. We have
truly become a paragon of excellence.
To all of you: I sincerely believe you have it within you to reach the stars, to fulfill your
dreams and silence your doubters. You’ve proven it time and time again, but, even then, there
is something you must realise. And it is for this very reason that I feel I must quote my
favourite poet, Robert Frost, who once so famously said:
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
ParaKnights, the world is at your feet and you have promises to keep with me, your parents
and teachers and, most of all, with yourselves. You must strive to be the best you can be, as
human beings, as people, and the rest will fall into place on its own.
Work hard- blood, sweat and tears- and soon you’ll see: history books will be filled with your
exploits, and, and a hundred years from today you may well be remembered as the best,
the pioneers and trailblazers of your time. Your contributions will be remembered as being
the most significant in making Lahore Grammar School Paragon City a great institution of
learning. I know, and you should too, that we ParaKnights are the best – young people with
hearts of gold! And you must never forget it.
Yours,
Salman Yasin
Principal
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Ali Arshad
Editor-in-Chief
Class of 2015
Beyond dispute it is a fact that libraries, bookshops, and the reading habits of its people reveal
the degree of a society’s academic culture and the depth of its intellectual civilization. Having
made Grammar Sentinel, the school’s monthly newspaper, I thought it would be routine work;
collecting essays, articles, poems, selecting the pictures and putting all of that in an orderly,
presentable fashion. And routine work it was! Also being Paragon’s fifth yearbook, it was up
to me to make it the most memorable of the lot. This year’s annual magazine, Origami, is
the culmination of this very intellectual culture that leads our students at LGS Paragon to
discover the joys of writing. The delight that each writer in this magazine will feel after seeing
a poem, story, article or report with their name as the writer is a joy only a writer can identify
with. And that is exactly what I hoped to achieve with this edition; to give a platform to every
ParaKnight to express his or her talent to the best of their ability.
LGS Paragon is one of those schools that can easily be accounted for producing diverse and
individualistic students who I have been grateful to work with and who have worked tirelessly
in helping me bringing out the best of everything on paper. It would not have been possible,
needless to say, without the constant guidance of Miss Zainab Rahman. If it wasn’t for her
deadlines, support, and most of all trust, Origami wouldn’t have been in your hands! So to her,
I am forever indebted to have presented me with this opportunity to produce this wonderful
creation.
This year’s Origami will give you a clear insight into the vibrant life at Paragon. It is absolutely
a product of punctilious endeavours and sheer efforts of my editorial board who religiously
committed themselves to make “Origami” an utterly pure illustration of your life spent here at
our campus, LGS Paragon. The photographs, of all the activities throughout this year, present
a spectacular display of the diversified events held at our campus, be it the A1 Welcome Party,
the first ever Grammar Fest, the second installment of ParaKnight Olympics, or how we all
managed to host the Raziuddin Sheikh U-19 Debating Championship – you’ll find all that in
the pages that follow.
I hope that the years spent at LGS Paragon will open new horizons of learning for my fellow
ParaKnights and provide them opportunities to revive the generally neglected genres of
reading and writing. Because the molding of our future requires the collective efforts of
the school, parents, and the general community, I must take this moment to appreciate the
positive and enlightened people who happen to share our vision for developing the inquisitive
minds of many.
I feel fortunate enough to have served as the President of the English Literary Society from
2014-15 and I present to you my whole year’s effort and dedication in the form of Origami.
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Lastly, I hope that the fruit of all the hard work our editorial board put into it may just be
a microcosm of “shaping a better beginning” that Ayesha (one of the founding member of
Origami) talked about. I hope that this year’s edition serves as an epitome of Zain R. Mian’s
wish that Origami helps their times spent at paragon “permanent”. I hope that I’ve managed
to meet my predecessor Uzair Islam’s expectation concerning this magazine, which he shared
with all of us in the previous edition of Origami. And finally, I hope that you - my batch mates
enjoy it!
“Thus admittedly, it is no longer mine. It is ours. Our Origami. Our dreams. Our goals.
Supporting each other in the roughest of times, we emerge victorious and united.”
-Ayesha Raees (Chief Editor 2013)
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GRAMMAR SENTINEL
The LGS Paragon’s heartbeat in a nutshell
It is only recently that LGS Paragon and its Literary Society has taken this
initiative to endorse student media to support their ideas and theories. And,
that is exactly how Grammar Sentinel, came to shape. We believe that Grammar
Sentinel serves as an opportunity for all students of LGS and not just our school.
Thus, making it a collaboration of all the literary societies of Lahore Grammar
School, Grammar Sentinel is meant to cultivate a crop of vitality and expression
in our students.
In retrospective, one must know that everybody’s contribution has been duly
noted and we’d particularly like to thank LGS 1-A/1 for their consistent support
allowing Grammar Sentinel to flourish and prosper.
Lastly, we all hope that the student body of LGS Paragon further enhances all
of our ideologies that we’ve put to come up with this concept and also trust them
that they will put all of their effort in order to take Grammar Sentinel to the
heights it is meant to achieve.
The Editorial Board.
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Aaima Humayun
Head Girl
2014-2015
I had thought I’d be the one student in the batch no one could ever know of, that my time here
would be spent in the common room waiting for my class or to go home. But what I did not
know was that these two years of my A Levels would be the best years of my life.
Everything changed after the council was announced. Becoming the Head Girl was the best
thing that could have ever happened to me. I was the kind of student who would never talk to
anyone in A1, literally no one, but in A2, there must be quite a few I didn’t talk to, but even
they knew me. Hamza and I had a really hard time getting along keeping in mind the whole
drama and politics; both of us going to the office every day, having council meetings which
were hopeless, always lying to the council that Miss Zainab would be waiting but they would
still not show up!
I can’t describe how amazing the 7 months of hard work leading up to the Grammar Fest
were. Sponsor hunts, sending invitations, receiving celebrities and the “one week to go” workload; working with Musarrat Misbah was the best part and then there was receiving HSY,
only those who were there know about this. Team Grammar Fest, we were amazing! Then
the ParaKnight Olympics came along, the one event I did not have to worry about, thank you
Sports Society for handling the event so efficiently. And of course, this was where we all became friends. Under-19 National Debates Competition took ten times the effort that all other
events had required. It was the most exciting experience of all, and I’m happy that it was our
council who got the chance to manage this national event. Obviously no other council could
have done this!
It was quite challenging to study and maintain my grades while simultaneously working from
7 in the morning to 8 at night. Whether it was a Parent Teacher Conference, High-Achievers
Ceremony, Grammar Fest, Math Mania, Patras Bukhari, Welcome Party, Tribute, Paraknight
Olympics or the Nationals; an event big or small, requires a great effort for it to be successful, which couldn’t have been possible without any of the team members and of course, the
administration’s support. We annoyed the faculty with our constant ramblings but they were
still very understanding and cooperative.
Thank you Hamza for taking care of the speeches, you tried to help me get over my fear but
that never happened, Usama, for all the sarcasm which made me work harder for the events,
Team Parakration, for making things really interesting, A2 wouldn’t have been the same otherwise: Team Grammar Fest, I’m glad we could work together for it; and of course my best
friend Amun for being the biggest support, Eman and Tajwar for just being there and making
every day the happiest; Susana, Iqra, Farhan, Yousaf and Sadia for being really sweet and kind,
Salman Bhatti for the chai and coffee, “Ro toh mat, ghar jao yaar!”, Asfand for all the advices,
Adam for being the big brother, Ali Arshad for all the pictures, Rajaab for the food and letting
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me slap you on the face, Abdullah for forcing me to study, and all of the others, thank you for
everything. And of course, thank you admin for believing in me and putting your trust in me,
making me the head of the batch.
Sir Salman, thank you so much for your love and support, Sir Amjad, for putting us on the
right track whenever we messed up; Miss Naila, for helping us and saving us from troubles,
Miss Maria, for helping with the university applications, Sir Shabbir, for excusing me from the
chemistry exams. Miss Fatima, thank you for being so kind to me; Miss Zainab for not letting
us miss any class and still making us work, it was because of you we learned multi-tasking,
Miss Shahnaz and Sir Asser for helping us with the events, sorry for the times when we would
sit and relax when we were worn out. We depended on you all, thank you. Council 2014-2015,
I couldn’t have worked with a better team; Batch 2015, I couldn’t have known and befriended
better people.
Meeting everyone after a few years will be interesting; I look forward to meeting everyone
again and more often.
Goodbye Paragon!
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Hamza Tariq Chaudhry
Head Boy
2014-2015
“It’s not about reaching the peak; it’s about making the climb; for the journey is what counts.”
As clichéd as this quotation is, I find that all clichés find their endurance and popularity
in a certain degree of truth. This statement looks false somewhat at face value. After all, it
was in my final year at Paragon that I finally made it to the Pakistan Debates Team, or was
nominated as Head Boy. Even the popularity and recognition that had eluded me for so long
was finally bestowed on me in my final years at Paragon. From serving as Under Secretary
General of the Pakistan National Model UN, to receiving the school’s Annual Roll of Honor, it
seems that it is my final year which represents the culmination of all my efforts in the past 5
years. Yet I feel that to describe me as Head Boy or Debater, is to insult the amazing memories
I’ve made at this school, and do a disservice in describing the magical effect that Paragon has
in making you what you were always destined to be – you.
My first year in Paragon was Paragon’s own second year, and I would be dishonest if I didn’t
say that it was the worst school year I’ve ever had. Loud, snobbish, over confident, and obese, I
was the perfect example of the spoilt child. This spoilt child; however, did not fit in very well
with the rest of Paragon. I was bullied and made fun of mercilessly to no end, until I came to
the brink and almost decided to leave Paragon. It was then that a few good friends showed
me how despite their methods, the boys at Paragon weren’t far wrong – I always had an air
of superiority around me, and I needed to stop looking down at people if I had any chance
of looking up. I slowly changed with time, and soon enough I had shed all the baby fat that
had accompanied me for most of my life. I began to participate in Parliamentary Debates and
MUN’s and seeing my seniors sweep every award at every musical event, began to learn to
play the guitar and the piano. I even managed to play a few matches for the school football
team, on their run to win Gold at the Punjab Olympics. But most of all, the people I most
detested, were now my closest friends. But I knew I couldn’t stop here.
Paragon provided me with a freedom unique to all schools I had ever heard of, and I knew
that I must act swiftly, to capitalize on this opportunity. Achieving the best O level result in
the school’s history, making it to the national debates team, or performing live with a band
for hundreds – it seemed that nothing could stop me now. 4 years on, as I write this essay in
between cramming for my exams, I take a moment to go back and I am shocked even today
by how much I’ve done. And I know that all of this because of that special place nestled in the
outskirts of the city that gave me a second chance - a place that I’ll always call home.
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Usama Jillani
Deputy Head Boy
2014-2015
I entered this school five years ago and, honestly speaking, I have learnt a lot, from academic
subjects like science and math, to great values like respect, honor, friendship, and dignity.
I know five years sounds like a lot of time, but, trust me; this five year ride has been very
speedy! It seems just like yesterday that I stepped into this rattling institution, enrolled as a
student in grade 9. The colossal red-bricked building with its large classrooms, its appealing
admin block, and it’s never ending corridors was amazing. During my time at LGS Paragon I
came across various people - both students and teachers - who all contributed to my fantastic
five years at this esteemed and exceptional institution.
For me, what sets LGS Paragon apart from other institutions in the local scholastic circuit
of Lahore and its emphasis on not only academic excellence, but also other various forms
of extra-curricular activities. In short: this institution plays a key role in the character building of an individual that will assist its students in all their future endeavors. LGS Paragon,
without doubt, stands on exalted status today all because of its remarkable faculty, who have
worked assiduously day and night to make this institution a success. Beginning with my Olevel teachers, I was fortunate enough to have teachers like Sir Irfan Zaka, Sir Usman Zaka,
and Sir Mazhar Bhatti; their constant support and help always provided me with the strength
and confidence required to surpass.
LGS Paragon would never have been such an amazing and lively school without its dynamic
Principal, Sir Salman Yasin. With his motto - “Children come first” - he was always there in his
office, sitting before his desk, energetic as always, ready to listen to your problems and resolve
them in the best possible way. Thank you Sir, for your constant support and help all through
these years at Paragon.
Then, of course, comes the A-level admin; without them my two years of A-levels would never
have been so great. Starting with Sir Amjad - a man of his own principles was not only my
Headmaster but also my math teacher and mentor. He was always there for me whenever I
needed him - be it a council matter or a calculus problem - he was always ready to collaborate.
With chemistry considered as the toughest A-Level subject, I was blessed to have an experienced teacher and a coordinator like Sir Shabbir to guide and help me with my chemistry
problems and other exam related worries. Ma’am Zainab, who was beyond just a teacher or an
administrator, was more like a friend with whom I could discuss all my personal problems.
Thank you so much, ma’am, for constantly listening to all my stupid SAT and university
questions and answering them so patiently, for reading my college essays and fixing out all
the grammatical mistakes and, not to forget, thank you for letting me use your credit card
several times. To Ma’am Fatima, thank you for being more like a motherly figure to me than
an administrator. She knew some of my deepest secrets and was always there to support me
and listen to all kinds of arguments and respond to them confidently. To Ma’am Maria and Sir
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Asser, thank you for constantly supporting and helping me in whatever I did. And last but not
the least, thank you Haider bhai, Zurez and Ali for assisting me with my university applications and guiding me all through the long rigorous process.
Here I would also take the opportunity to thank Sir Amir Mustafa, my Physics teacher, for his
sheer hard work and help in both my O & A-levels. His classes were amazing, as was the time
spent with him outside school. I would also thank Dr Saira, my biology teacher - an extremely
experienced and remarkable teacher who understood my problems and guided me through
my problematic times. It was because of her motivation and constant, unwavering support
that I got an ‘A’ in O-level biology and will, Insha’Allah, get one in the A-level biology exam.
This school gave me great friends; friends who have been with me all through my thick and
thin. To Azeem and Hassan, thank you for being so supportive, caring and helpful all through
my journey at Paragon. You guys strengthened me after my Dad passed away and helped me
realize how there are so many other important things in life that I still need to learn. All
those combined study sessions, the post exam treats, the trip to Murree and everything else
will be remembered. With you guys, I shared some of my deepest secrets, thank you for never
letting me down. You guys made my experience at LGS Paragon all the more delirious and
eventful. To Hashim Khan, thank you for being a smart and nice friend and a companion
with whom I could discuss all my university issues. To my fellow student council members
- Sufiyan, Asfand, Adam, Ayela, Ali, Hamza, Aaima, Ijlal, AJ, Jannat, Jibran, Abdullah, Amun,
Maham Arshad, Maham Zahid, Faizan, Nyel, Omer Amir, Omer Azhar, Salman Bhatti, Salman
Hanif, Sheryar Nawab, Akse Muhammad, Tashfeen, Tayyab, Tooba, Ahmad, Yousaf , Zohaib,
thank you for bearing with me for a year and for being so supportive and helpful. Experience
of working with you guys was completely remarkable. To some of my other amazing batch
fellows, Syed Aun Ali, Shehryar Amjad, Asfand Yar, Ayesha, and Syed Muhammad Hussain,
thank you for making my experience at Paragon, worthwhile. There is a long list of other
names that I have no doubt I am forgetting, but thank you everyone for being a part of my
incredible journey here at Paragon.
LGS Paragon provided me an opportunity to not only acquire leadership skills but also provided me with experiences that will greatly benefit me in my practical life in the near future. Participating and managing events like ParaKration, Grammar Fest, ParaKnight Olympics and
Raziuddin Sheikh All Pakistan U19 Debating Championship, helped me earn the experiences
which I would not have been otherwise able to obtain, going to meetings with the chairpersons of big firms in Pakistan, making marketing proposals to receiving and submitting bank
drafts. Budgeting, formulating and handling finances to clearance of debts and structuring
the events holistically; hosting the events and providing the participants with an experience
they would be grateful for. It required me to stretch my potential, and work extensively, day
and night, to put together these events which stood firm on their ground and would become
a legacy for the future classes to carry on. These experiences helped me explore my abilities
which I otherwise would not have known that I possessed; Molding me into an independent
individual, and prepared me for countering almost anything in any situation or field of work,
either its marketing or promotions or more simply putting together decorations for a perfect
environment for a dinner.
I would love to continue writing about how great my experience of coming to Paragon has
been but I want you not to be just empathetic with my experience, but also read what my
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other peers have to say and then realize that how sad we feel to accept that we will be bidding
farewell to LGS Paragon once and for all. But let me tell you, memories of my time spent at
Paragon have been engraved on my mind and these memories will be a part of my little treasure that I will carry with myself now when I step into the real practical world. To the A1 batch,
I leave behind an advice, adore your every moment spent at this institution and feel proud to
be recognized as a ‘ParaKnight’ because what this institution has taught me the most is; time
is finite so, make every moment count. Goodbye LGS Paragon, for you and your people will
surely be missed!
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Omer Azhar Bhatti
President Debating Society
2014-2015
I came to LGS Paragon in 2010. Yes, it’s been 5 years since that wonderful decision I made to
come here. I had the option to go to schools that had been present on the map of Lahore since
decades, yet I chose this new, unknown institution situated right next to the Indian Border.
This is that time when in the educational world of Lahore, a majority of people didn’t even
know if the school existed. In the last 5 years of my life, the one thing I have truly cherished
is the journey LGS Paragon has made hence unlike most testimonials, this one won’t be about
my own life at LGS Paragon or how competent our administration is; it will be about the students who once were a part of this dream fulfilling school.
I, for once, credit the rise in LGS Paragon’s importance most to the amazing students that
have embraced its classrooms. These are the earliest of LGS Paragon’s students who left no
stone unturned in representing Paragon to the best of their abilities but are often forgotten.
Our very first Head Boy, Arfa Bin Saqib is someone who can’t be overlooked. I myself as a 9th
grader viewed Arfa at debating competitions and in school events. He made sure that Paragon
came out with its head high at every debating tournament or sports event he represented the
school in. A young institution, Paragon had to go up against the likes of LGS Johar Town and
Aitchison. Having suffered heavy defeats and occasionally epic victories, Arfa laid the foundation for LGS Paragon in the debating community as well as cemented it in the sports sphere.
The likes of Khuzaema Gohar Siddiqui and Tariq Iqtidar can’t be ignored in this regard as
they alongside with Arfa were a part of the School’s earliest representatives and debate team
which got the school its due respect and they cultivated a path to success that was more convenient for the coming batches to follow than it was for them. In the next batch, the likes
of Namwar Ayaz and Raza Ali Bokhari proved to be splendid for LGS Paragon as the former
played his part in establishing Paragon’s success in dramatics and the latter won us numerous
music accolades. These are days when the school was slowly but gradually making its name
in the country, mostly due to the names of students mentioned above.
The mention of Fareed Ishaque, Murtaza Chaudhry and Murtaza Kamal here is most significant. They formed part of a team that won Paragon its first major debating tournament,
the Under 17’s national debating championship and numerous other debate tournaments.
Murtaza Chaudhry and Fareed brought pride to the school at an international stage as Fareed
won the 2nd best speaker award at the Eurasian Schools Debating championship and Murtaza
represented Pakistan and won the Karl Popper Debate championship in Thailand. The team
of Murtaza Chaudhry and Fareed went on to reach the semifinals of Eurasian Schools Debating championship. Hamza Afsar replicated the same feat in Model United Nations. In the
midst of this, Hamza Kamal is another prominent former student who ended up representing
Pakistan at an international drama festival and bagged a strong reputation for the school in
dramas across the country.
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Apart from a highly impressive academic reputation, LGS Paragon today happens to be a winner of Punjab Olympics, a leading institution in Debates and MUN’s and a renowned name
in Music and Drama but this credit mostly goes to our graduates who had the dedication and
commitment to go head to head with the more experienced schools at a time when we weren’t
the same extolled name, and that came out victorious. I have myself won important competitions and achieved a lot for this school but for me it was out of the ashes of the hard work of
the likes of Arfa’s and Murtaza’s and Fareed’s that this school has seen immense progress.
In my half a decade here, I have seen the utmost inspiration our Principal Salman Yasin is to
us and the top foreign admissions he has secured for students. I have come across the firmness and discipline Sir Amjad Iqbal has instilled in generations of students. I have witnessed
the sheer determination of Madam Shazia Yasin in churning out the some of the best O-level
results. I have experienced the friendliness of arguably the best faculty that is present in
Lahore here. In my time here, I have seen the vigilance of custodians like Haider who has
charmed me with his humor and hard work and tasted the delicious fresh food made by ‘Fauji’, the spectacle who runs our school canteen. But in all honesty, I have been fascinated most
by those students who actually made this school into what it is today and that is LGS Paragon.
I am privileged to have viewed all of this.
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Ali Arshad
President English Literary Society 2014-2015
Founder of Grammar Sentinel
Alright, so I have worked really hard to make this year’s magazine come to life and I’ve been
able to introduce a monthly newspaper in our school, too. Truth be told, I’ve managed it
really well so far until this gory little moment. Illustrating a testimonial that encompasses
the totality of all the mental agony of these few years that I’ve gone through, is way more
sedulous than pacing the corridors and staircases of this campus in exasperation to find Ms.
Zainab to approve the content of “Paroxysm” at the U19s Nationals, this year.
But, I’ll try to give this my best shot.
I did not know who I was, and I am not going to drown myself in to the tittle-tattle of all
clichés, and say that this school and years spent – helped me figure out who I really am.
Life at Paragon has certainly not been easy. I was really beat in O Levels and in A Levels, well
- I think I just got used to it. I’ll miss this campus which I’ve come to both loathe and love.
But, frankly speaking, Paragon has always and always brutally popped that so-called “perfect”
bubble in my head without even bothering about my crest-fallen self! Whether, it were the
number of subjects that I had to debate on everyday with Ms. Fatima or sharing my dream
of going to Columbia with 2As, 2Bs and 2Us in the mid-terms during the council 2014-2015
interviews, I’ve always had to walk the rugged yet substantial pathway. But hey, that is all in
past now – I know now, what I didn’t before; the science of procrastination.
From all the drama that goes down here to discussing “Lana Del Rey” in the corridor and
maybe “possibly” outside your class. From the countless bizarre laughter to all the shamming
(in so many ways and at numerous occasions). From flimsy engineering of plans for hanging
out to actually hanging out. From Aaima being my nemesis during our initial Language
classes to becoming friends with Aaima, who with her “slunt” (inside joke) vocabulary to
“sluntier” pronunciations managed to make us laugh at the cost of herself. Along with, those
bonding sessions while making our way “one-step-at-a-time” to our language and psych class.
From Maham to Farwa. From breaking three pairs of glasses in less than two years to my muchtalked-about mobile phone. From the photography to selfies, snapchat and what not. From
being the English Literary Society President to Eman and Tajwar (bullies) always questioning
my credentials on behalf of my grade in this particular subject in O Levels CIE. I’ve had my
share of the school life that the ones before me much enthusiastically talked about.
Now comes the part (which in my opinion is the sole reason of writing testimonials); addressing
all those people who made life in Paragon, what it is.
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The only person who knows everybody and exactly knows where they’d be or what will they
be doing, Butt Sahb who is basically Illuminati – is one person without whom the fabrication
of this school is simply not possible.
After him, comes Ms. Fatima, who is always there for you and well come to think of it, she
is actually always there - she never takes a day off. But she is the most understanding and
concerned person you’ll find in our administration.
Ms. Zainab is one of the members of the administration that I am definitely going to miss
when I leave this place. She is the coolest, enough said. She has always believed in me even
when I didn’t. I went to her for pitching the idea of Grammar Sentinel and she seemed more
certain than me that I’ll be able to get it done and the only thing I regret the most is not
studying Literature from her. Miss Zainab is awesome, kay?!
Furthermore, I’d like to give some sort of award of appreciation to all my teachers if I can
and thank them for bearing with me, all that time. Ms. Saima’s class was the one thing I used
to look forward to in A1s – this class was so much fun back when language was an easy A.
Since, I’ve had quite a handful of subjects these two years, I’d like to thank all of my teachers;
Ms. Naveed, Sr. Javed, Sr. Arslan, Sr. Ahmed, Sr. Saem, Sr. Fahd, Ms. Alizeh, Ms. Komal and
Ms. Kinza, I wouldn’t have been here and definitely never made it to the A1’s High Achievers
Ceremony, if it weren’t because of you all.
I think, this would be the right time to acknowledge all those people without whom I wouldn’t
have been able to achieve “things” (as vague as this may sound, it is my testimony and you
cannot do anything about it) I wished for. All the members of Paragon English Literary
Society; Farwa, Zainab and Ali and all the students who contributed, without you all - Grammar
Sentinel, the Publications Department and this magazine would’ve never ever been within the
realms of possibility.
I’d like to pen down the further prompt of my testimony to my friends without whom the
chances of surviving my days at Paragon would’ve been minimal to non-existent.
Maham Zahid; the best possible friend one can ever have. She won’t be there when you need
her and she certainly won’t remember your birthday but she’ll call you your best friend and
tell everybody that you’ll be attending the same university as hers, without you knowing.
Thank you, Maham, for all this love and support.
Zainab Ashraf; the most ignorant and careless junior yet the most friendly person on the face
of this planet, without you I would have to go home right after school and bored my brains
out. All those hangouts and having the most surrealistic epiphanies during those rickshaw
rides, was one of the most amazing times.
Tajwar Munir; I have no idea how we are still friends for the past seven years. It’s been one
truly amazing friendship and I expect you to appreciate it.
I wish I could go on chanting all of your names out but, I believe you might not be interested
in that, so I am just going to mention you guys but you all know that without anyone of you it
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just wouldn’t have been what it is. Mustabeen, Tashfeen, Aaima, Eman, Natasha, Farwa (please
do let me know a month before your passing away to write your eulogy), Iqra, Ibtissam,
Maham, Susana and Salman, you guys have been the most instrumental part in making my
life at Paragon, a good one. Thank you!
*Now as I end my testimony, I imagine a song with an anthemic and uplifting feel playing in
the background. AND NO IT IS NOT “STAND UP FOR THE CHAMPIONS”.*
Life at Paragon has always been challenging and subtle in its own ways but there was nothing
that a few Retrica filters, my DSLR and the “mufta” food couldn’t perhaps solve. It seems like
just well-about-FIVE-years we were new here and started getting to know each other. Friends
found and lost, groups emerged and broken, true people found and some showed their real
faces.
And since it’s a given, I’ll go ahead and say it anyways. I take with me the memories, that I’ll
cherish my whole life.
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Hassan Abbas Khan
Deputy Science Society
2014-2015
Where do I begin when I reminisce about my time at LGS Paragon?
I stepped into the Grammarian land in 1999 and believe me or not, this decision made me the
man who I am today. Let me give you guys a brief intro to my educational journey till this
date. I attended pre-school at LGS 42 B1, junior school at LGS 39 main, middle school at LGS
6 E3 and last but not the least the senior school and my A levels at LGS Paragon. As far as my
experience is concerned LGS Paragon was, is and will be the best one of them all!
After staying in this school for five years, making many life-long friends, and learning from
various teachers year after year, I find myself saddened by my departure yet euphoric that I
am able to attain so many memories.
My O level days at Paragon were the most exciting days I have ever spent. I still cannot forget
the first day at school when my shoes were taken off because I was wearing the wrong ones.
That sounds weird. Isn’t it? Yup that is the reality. As a punishment I was forced to walk all
day long without my “long shiny pointed BATA waale” shoes but it does not end here. I was
also given a haircut in front of 500 students during the break. Well that was embarrassing
especially if it is the first day of your new academic session! Sorry Ma’am Shazia for all that
disappointing behaviour. I am really apologetic! Those days will surely be missed.
Anyways stories like these continue. I am proud that I was and am an academic high achiever
from the very beginning. This is all due to the effort and hard work done by the faculty here
at LGS Paragon. The teachers here are dedicated to what they do and will do anything in their
power to help their students succeed. By forming strong bonds with one another, the teachers
get a better understanding of the student. I’ve had the pleasure of bonding with many of
my teachers, most importantly with Sir Shabbir and Dr. Saira. Thank you Sir Shabbir for
considering me as one of your best students and also for giving me essential examination tips
before my O level Chemistry exam. Thank you Dr. Saira for teaching us both O and A level
Biology. “ Aap ke baghair humney fautofy ho jaana tha bio mein.”.
I would like to avail this opportunity to thank all of my O level teachers including Sir Usman
Zaka, Sir Aamir Mustafa, Sir Saem, Ma’am Nuzhat Niazi and Ma’am Amna Bokhari. I wouldn’t
have achieved an excellent O level result without the help of all of you.
Then came the A level days which I am really excited to talk about. It all started with the
science Olympiad named ParaKration which featured 12 academic competitions and 3 social
events. I was assigned a post as the co-head in an event by the name of ‘EPISTEME’; Paragon’s
annual science quiz. Hosting and managing the event along with the former Science President
Ahmad Ali was one of the most memorable memory I shall carry away from Paragon. Not
only this but also my trip to India for an international science competition with Sir Shabbir
and my seniors was also an unforgettable experience.
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My golden plus tiring days at Paragon then, started. I was pretty confident that the
administration would give me a chance to lead the science society and they did it! I was given
the honor of becoming the Deputy Science President for the year 2014-2015. Although I have
been a member of the student council many times but being the science head was a truly
unique experience.
From being the event director of ParaKration to leading the space settlement project, I am
going to miss every bit of it.
This institution has given me confidence and educational experience that broadened my
perspective of each subject I studied here. I will thank all my A level teachers including Sir
Shabbir, Dr. Saira, and Ma’am Naveed for constantly working hard on my studies and getting
the best out of me. I am grateful to all of you.
I am also thankful to my entire A level Administration including Sir Salman, Sir Amjad, Sir
Shabbir, Ma’am Fatima, Ma’am Zainab and Sir Asser for always trusting me and helping me
sort out every problem I faced.
Usama and Azeem, I have not left you guys out and I can’t. The previous two years were
fantastic and have even more strengthened our friendship. I will never forget all those
‘’poondies’’ and ‘’wailiyans’’ that we used to do. Our trip to Murree will be remembered. Thank
you both for being on my side every time and bearing all those mishaps and covering them
up. You guys are my life.
For my other amazing friends Asfand, Hashim, Aun, Abdullah, Haroon, Omar Saif and all
others thank you very much for being a part of my awesome journey here and making life at
paragon heaven-like.
Gracias to all of my Spectrum Science Society members especially - Hussain, Yousaf, Danial,
Hamza Ather, Taziem, Wahab, Arslaan, Haider, Khuzaima , Abdullah Suleman, Hunain,
Hamza Sadiq, Shehryar and many more for making it possible for the society to excel to a
position at which it stands now. I will miss all the time I have spent with you people preparing
for ParaKration and ARSSDC. You guys have worked very hard and have made me proud!
I bid farewell to this institute which has made me a proud human being. I truly believe that
when one good thing ends, a new one begins. For the A1’s I leave behind an advice, study hard
and achieve excellent results and make LGS Paragon proud. For my A1 society members, I
hope you guys will perform better this year and take the science society to greater heights.
INSHALLAH!
Apologies to all those who I have missed out.
This is me Hassan Abbas Khan, a Grammarian since 1999, now signing out as a graduate in
2015.
Good luck to all ParaKnights! Adios amigos LGS Paragon...
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Jannat Babar Malik
Prefect
2014-2015
Of all the decisions I’ve made in life, I’m proud, I was brave enough to come to Paragon. 28th
September’13, when my little 1A1 Bubble was popped, my world was stripped naked of all the
homely affection I grew up in, from nursery to grade 11, it was all gone. I was alienated.
Upon entering Paragon on my first day, I was confronted by the male species, something we
didn’t usually get to see in 1A1 and were always expected to stay ‘away’ from. They were...
creepy. It was tough to socialise with them, since their ‘Carrera glasses’ those huge Jutt
chaddars, ‘mouchain’ and fascination with the new girls made them even more freaky. From
hearing phrases in the corridors like, ‘Oh mera Phooone de’ to ‘Bachi! Arahi hai, arahi hai,
udhar dekh’ and everyone’s stereotypical beliefs. Something like ‘Sleeveless pehna hai tou
zarur 1A1 se hee ho gee’
*A million ellipses*
Nonetheless, my two years spent here, transformed me as a person, helped me get out of my
own little cocoon, after which the people I used to think were weird, became people I easily
fit in with, made the best memories with and the people ( never knew I’d say this ) I’d miss the
most. It’s pretty depressing how after 3 months I won’t be seeing Butt Sahab calling out my
name to attend the classes I run away from, seeing Miss Fatima’s poker face when you know
something deadly will follow.
Nowhere else will I find a massive candy bowl like the one in Sir Salman’s office or the kind of
affection with which he greets everyone on campus. And, of course Fauji’s french fries which
will remain a legacy for years to come.
I cannot thank everybody enough for who I am today (especially Salman Shahid’s insults)
the lessons I’ve learnt through my experience with people, who taught me things I wouldn’t
have otherwise learnt, staying back in 1A1. The pampering of our admin has spoilt us to the
fullest. From Ma’am Naila’s hugs and stack of junk food for us to the comfortable couches in
the admin block which cushioned us after a long hectic day. Paragon, certainly wouldn’t have
been the same without all the people I met, became close to and shared my food with.
To Moose and Sabeeh, the very first two people who literally helped me survive Paragon
during my initial days here. Who taught me how to fit in. Thank you for always treating me
like a kid, getting me Milo while you guys bought drinks... To all the beatings and tantrums
you’ve took. You guys are amazing! I owe you a lot.
To Ahmed Waleed, it’s pretty difficult being nice to you but thank you for being my backbone
throughout these two years, for standing up for me and being just the person I needed in this
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school. This is to each and every day you made Paragon bearable/fun. From LLF 2014 to the
grade battle and hating the same people, the never ending gossip, your spot-on imitation of
people. Something like, ‘Meine Tou ‘Had-Gal’ bana hai’. You’ve been the ‘bestest’! Continue
dreaming big and painting naked people. Make JayJay proud!
To Ayela Khan, the only free soul of Paragon. You amuse me with the way you live each day to
the fullest, regardless of what people think. It’s easy putting it this way: our mutual obsession
with clothes, the pranks we’ve pulled on people, the cute boys we never talk to and those ultra
high days when we question life. From Colours and Humor, to Grammathon and lastly the
*1,2,3 swag on*. Always be the retard-ish pervert you are. Be successful and live life to the
fullest with just the right people. All my Lau 4 U.
To Ahmed Bilal, the puny person Paragon does not know exists... (Sozz, A) You’re one of those
people whose sexist jokes, somehow, do not get to me. You’ve taught me a lot, from chilling a
night before an exam (which I clearly failed at) to how the best colleges aren’t just everything.
I hope you get married before me and learn how it’s not only a woman’s work to heat up food
when the microwave’s not working. Thank you for tolerating my insaneness. Totes adorbzzz.
To Omer Azhar, from every time guessing your pass code right to running away with your
Blue Nike Bag. Thank you for being the constant support you were.
A special shout out to all you beautiful people; Asser, Maham, Tashfeen, Kachu, Roshan,
Farwa, Zainab, Ali, Amun, Salman Bhatti, Usama, Aadil, Omer, Nyel (The foodie), Asfand,
Mustabeen, Faizi, Tayyab, Saad, Fawwaz, Alavi, Usman, Uzair, Mahnoor, Eisa, Daniyal, Ali Raj,
Shabeeh, Meeral, Natasha.
Apologies if I missed anyone.
Whatever my experiences, here at Paragon, may have been; all the ups and downs, all the
disappointments and happy days - It has made me realise how this will be the place I’ll get
to call home when I graduate. Paragon, has shown me a world I never wanted to be a part
of once. I’ve been able to defy demons within myself. I’ve been moulded into a lady I once
aspired to be - confident, strong and sensible.
Farewell, LGS Paragon!
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Abdul Mustabeen Javed
President Fashion Society
2014-2015
‘What am I supposed to say?’ was what came to my mind at the thought of writing a testimonial. Was this supposed to be a beacon of ‘encouragement’ and false hope or a tell-all? Or
7000-words of schmaltzy nothing? It’s usually the pretentious and unbecoming practice of
putting every tiny little microsecond of time spent at school into testimonials which makes
me cringe. But what I have to say isn’t gold, either. It’s just what I have to say. Also, I am a
council member: This is a rite of passage.
Being a Grammarian was nothing new when I came to the Paragon campus in 2010; I had already been one for 7 years, just happened to end up geographically somewhere new. O and A
Levels, now seem worlds apart. Mass hysteria vs. control. Adjusting vs. disagreeing. Hiding vs.
expressing. I am pretty sure this is true for some of you as well, if note wholly. Five years ago,
nothing was what it is now. Different colors, different wavelengths. Acquaintances, friends
and the ‘best’ of them all had something to give, good or bad. But you take whatever there is
in stride and move on. You remember the positive and negative, neither loses its bittersweet
taste. We never really know what something feels like except in hindsight; seeing what these
five years were now seems really interesting; full of life, which in itself is sad and happy, joyous and remorseful. Even more interesting was how rapidly the scenery changed, from the
ninth grade till the last year. Two friends left. An old friend came back. One went missing
again. Lessons learned. True colours found.
I am not going to drop names because the people who are close to me know so. But whoever
made a difference, shifted the scene from the right to the left, I’ll always remember you. I
never forget time spent. But the people who made me feel happy and content, whether new or
old, thank goodness for you. Although no huge crowd is sitting by my side to listen to these
tales, I say this since we can all relate. Leaving school and all the years I’ve spent behind is
sort of sad, yet liberating in a much larger sense. I wish I could say goodbye to the teachers
who have made me want to work hard all these years. Teachers like Zunaira Sardar and Saima
Nawab were definitely the ones who made a positive difference, little or big.
High school was a journey. An experience. At least for the ones who felt themselves and
observed the world around them. Hopefully for myself, Art College is ahead with the many
aspirations I have yet to fulfil.
The future is only a mirage of our wishes, but I’d tell everybody to listen to their honest heart.
Be respectful to one another. And put each foot on the ground knowing that life is only what
you make of it. May at least some of you find the strength and courage to be such. That’s all.
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Maham Arshad
Prefect
2014-2015
It was a new beginning…
The moment I landed at Lahore International Airport leaving everything behind me, my
home, my family and my friends, I knew that it was going to be a hell of a ride for me. I was
very nervous and excited about moving from a small city such as Quetta to Lahore which was
totally a new place for me where I knew no one.
When I first looked at the red bricked building I was sure that this is the place I want to be in.
LGS Paragon - what a place! Now when I look back I have no regrets of joining this institution.
In my journey, I came across a lot of people, good and bad. Unfortunately, the ratio of bad
people was more. Despite all the bad experiences, arguments, and fights there were people
who always supported me and stayed by my side during all this. Bad people gave lessons, good
people gave memories.
In my time here, I have truly grown up and matured immensely. I had my first live performance here and it was a huge milestone in my life. Of course, bad times were imminent but
tough times don’t come to stay - they come to pass. I have always had the support that I needed
here and for that I’m very thankful.
I later opted to apply for being a Prefect. I remember standing in the line with my fingers
crossed waiting for my name to be called out and then finally Sir Amjad called my name, I
was truly happy but with that came great responsibility. We were handling complaints, events,
and assemblies - just about anything you can think of. It was tough and usually resulted in
petty little arguments between students but by the end of the day we all got through and got
the job done.
After all the arguments and fights, whenever I hear someone say Paragon I can’t help but
smile because my experience here has been great, and I wouldn’t change any moment of it. I
can’t thank all the faculty members enough for always being there for us, and solving literally
every problem that we were facing, be it career options or studies.
Thank you, Paragon for making me a better person in every aspect. I’m bolder and way more
confident now. To all my friends here, I wish the best for them. These two years have been
life changing for me and if ever given a chance, I would love to re-live these moments in a
heartbeat!
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Ayela Hassan Khan
President Drama Society
2014-2015
Hey! I’m Ayela Hassan Khan and I am/was the Dramatics President of LGS Paragon... you may
now bow down to my superior awesomeness! I won’t go on telling a long story about how this
school is great and helped me with my future blah blah blah. Instead, I’ll tell you that my
experience at this school was just the same as if it would have been in any other school! Other
than all the stupid problems, exams and other aspects of every student’s life, you will make
some great friends here; I know that because I have! You’ll meet some great people and come
across some not-so-great ones, but that’s life.
One of the things I will miss the most are Fauiji’s ke chips! And Sir Salman Yasin calling me
out, ‘Hiii Babe!’
Don’t let the admin get to you! Join the dramatics club, take part in competitions and win
something for your own satisfaction and the trophy for the school. Make Mommah proud,
babies!
Lots of love!
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Ahmed Waleed Amjad
President Art Society
2014-2015
At this instant, when I think about the very short five years I have spent in Paragon, I get
only glimpses of grey pictures transitioning back and forth from memory to memory. These
memories, particularly, are dominated by the red bricks of the building, which envelope its
long, nostalgic corridors. My time at Paragon has been exceptionally life changing. It changed
me thoroughly—both mentally and physically; I have spent the best formative years of my
life here.
Initially, when I came to Paragon, it startled me. I was confronted with a blitz of freedom,
such that I had never before seen at any other school; it felt really good. During my experience here at Paragon, I was scandalized by certain groups of people (specifically girls, who
shall not be named) time and again. Believe me, it was not funny; I would rather describe it as
scary. Voices like, “Yawr Maaine toh had gal Banana hai,” “Main toh 24/7 peach tea peeti hun,”
“Meray peechay na doggie parh gaya tha meri coloonie mey,” etc., terrified me; I felt alienated!
However, this very diverse student body of Paragon changed the way I looked at people.
Time spent here has been great, beginning with, perhaps, the most important experience of
my life: organizing Paragon’s very first art Olympiad; Grammar Fest. These 3 months of my
life at Paragon were conceivably the most amazing. I still remember the day when Nyel and
I went up to Sir Salman to fill him in on what we were planning to do. I remember continuously chucking onto Nyel’s elbow with my mobile phone. Sir Salman sat there on his office
chair besides the famous, gigantic fish bowl/candy jar, sipping his tea. Within seconds of our
proposal, he waived the white flag without any uncertainty, surprising both of us, leaving us
beaming with excitement. Sir Salman, without any doubt, is the most amazing, the most supportive, and, perhaps, the most imaginative Principal I have ever had. Whether it is for his
incredibly amazing Disney ties, or his ability to create the most fascinating paintings, Sir Salman has always inspired me.
There is one very special teacher who I hold in higher regard than I thought I would ever be
capable of. I have never met a teacher as kind, as funny, and as fascinating as Miss Rubab; I
have never met a teacher who has fought as hard as she does for her students; and, I have never met a teacher who pops and locks to Spice Girls when she feels like it. In her, I have found a
mother, a friend, and a mentor. She has made me the person I am today; without her, I would
have never obtained my GCE O-Level “Top in Pakistan” art distinction. I owe her everything!
I have made friends here—a lot of them; they are insanely brilliant, beautiful, and amazing—
and better than yours. With them I have spent times that I assuredly will never forget—ever.
These memories, characterized by laughter, gossip, and a lot of fighting, are very precious to
me. Let us begin by mentioning all the pretty ladies.
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To Jannat, you have been the meanest, yet the most reliable, the most sincere, and the most
amazing best-friend that I have ever had. Through all those times that we have had, all those
people that we have hated, all those bad choices that we have made, all those ‘broad’ shoulders
you have bragged about, and more, I have now come to realize how important you are to me.
You have always been there for me; you have always had my back. You are the heart of our
experience here at Paragon. And, well of course, I am sure you acknowledge that I am the
brains; or, at least, that is what I have come to believe.
To Ayela, Tashfeen, and Maham, you girls have made me laugh time and again, and you have
been there for me and even fought with me. I want you to know how much I love all three of
you. To Nyel and Asfand: I need both of you to know, that, regardless of your gigantic bodies
and your mentalities of a ten year old (Well, this only applies to Nyel), I have found two of my
closest friends in you.
To all my other friends: such as Aaima, who made Grammar Fest, Grammar Fest, Hussain—
you are one of the funniest and sexiest people I have come to know. To Dani, Ali Raj, Tooba,
Rajab, Asfand, Burki, Airaj, Yousaf, Farwa, Uzair, Shayan, Shabeeh, Zainab, Yousaf, Zara, Ramsha, Rafey, Roshan, Shehryar, Ijlal, and a list of names I am no doubt forgetting; I wish I could
know all of you better. To all my seniors: Hasan, Shamayam, Anique, Ayesha, Zain, Uzair,
Azed, Hiba, Cherry, Sameed, the other Zain, Shigraf, Gillani, and Aniqa as well.
To the toughest yet nicest members of the administration—Miss Zainab and Miss Fatima are
two of the most wonderful women I have ever come across. Whether it is choosing the correct
subjects, or bunking class, or just to fix some emotionally dramatic fight, I have found myself
in their office time and again; I am sorry for bothering you so much with my petty issues and
thank you for always being there to help me.
And, lastly, to the heart and soul of Paragon: Fauji and his fries.
Paragon would not be anything without its people, but, I think, perhaps they would not be
anything without Paragon, either. I truly have come a long way; this school has molded me
into a personality I never thought I would ever be. Leaving here as a part of the batch of 2015,
is believably very difficult.
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Maham Zahid Khan
Prefect
2014-2015
I’m not comfortable with change. I studied in my previous school for about 13 years so I didn’t
want to leave it. I was forced to join this school because it was closer to my house. I hated it
from the second I got enrolled. I didn’t even go on the first day - I couldn’t muster up the
courage. I didn’t want to leave my old friends and make new ones all over again. However,
once I started to go, I found out that this school was amazing! Whoever I interacted with
was very friendly, be it a guy or a girl. You would find every type of social cliques here; from
athletes to artists. It wasn’t hard to fit in after all.
I became really close friends with Ayela, Jannat and Tashfeen. Our subjects were almost the
same so we spent a lot of time together. We had our little group of four where Ayela and
Jannat were the loud, crazy ones and Tashfeen and I were the quiet ones. Time spent with
them was wonderful and I will never forget it.
After them, comes Ali Arshad. He’s the nicest guy I know. Whenever I needed advise about
something I would go to him. He’s like a big brother to me and so, I would tell him about all
my problems and he would listen to them with great patience, even though I annoyed him a
lot by acting like a two year old and whining all the time. Even if we wouldn’t talk for days, I
always knew that he’s the one person who I can always count on.
Life at Paragon was incredible. There are a lot of opportunities here. Everyone gets a chance
at whatever they want. I applied for the council wanting to be the Swift House captain instead
became the school Prefect. I was upset at first, but it turned out that I got a better post and I
was in the core council. This year our batch introduced two new events; Grammar Fest and
ParaKnight Olympics. For both events I was made the female Head of Security. It was one of
the best experiences I’ve had here.
The administrative staff at LGS Paragon is very supportive of its students. They actually listen
and cater to us in whatever way possible. The thing that I loved about this school was that
the administration made sure that there was a balance between studies and extra-curricular
activities. They wouldn’t let you participate in an event if you ever got poor grades. The admin
is kind and approachable. You can go to them with any problem and they would find a solution
(Miss Fatima and Miss Zainab scare me though). Sir Salman’s office –and his heart- are always
open for his students.
All in all, these two years at LGS Paragon were one hell of a ride - and I wouldn’t have it any
other way.
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Syed Muhammad Hussain
Student
2014-2015
Hey there guys! This is Syed Mohammad Hussain and this is my testimony/travelogue of LGS
Paragon. I’m not one of your average ParaKnight’s neither am I a run-of-the-mill Grammarian.
Setting my foot into Grammarian territory from Aitchisonian land however, something about
this place radiated warmth and soon began to echo a second home.
After having to leave Aitchison, making efforts to return back personally seemed to me as
desperate shots in the dark. So as a second homely institution I opted for LGS Paragon. I still
remember as my mother and I were warmly welcomed by individuals possessing hearts of
gold such as Sir Amjad Iqbal and Miss Naila Wajid on our first wait in the rich decor laden
admin block. The orientation soon followed afterwards and very soon I found myself in LGS
school attire and entering the red-bricked building as an enrolled student.
My first walk through the A1 corridor was never a pleasant one by anyone’s standard. Seeing
endless, unfamiliar and distinct faces race past was certainly not something I took a liking for.
I took a glance of my surroundings as my eyes searched for a distant acquaintance or friend
but my efforts bore no fruit. I felt lost in thought and fear coupled with anxiety drained the
strength from my legs.
However, my initial pains assuaged me and through socialising in classes, school events and
corridor strides my acquaintances grew. Those unfamiliar faces diminished and my horizons
broadened. ParaKration 2013 was the highlight of my travelogue and it was a great learning
curve for a freshman such as me.
By January 2014, my fortunes had taken a favourable turn as I began to cement new and
greater friendships. The environment seemed more homely and the oddities faded away. Enter
the A1 final exams and I find in myself a sociable individual pushing my weight around in the
batch, maintaining cordial terms with my seniors and lifting the odd junior.
Second year in Paragon (A2) and I feel myself immersed in euphoria. I found the most devoted
teachers and mentors in Sir Bandey, Sir Amjad Iqbal and Sir Akmal Chaudhry. I’ve helped
spearhead ParaKration which seems the icing on top of the cake in my liking. I’ve taken to the
crowd here and I long for another year to make up for time lost in A1. In lieu of my initial
misgivings, my turnaround has been admirable and I see myself going into university with a
lot of my batch mates joining me which certainly does send a rush of blood through the head
at times.
So my advice to the A1’s would be well relax, socialise, take part in school events, don’t neglect
your academics and take your SAT now! A1 is cakewalk not A2.
Au revoir!
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The Chapel Hill Incident
Over the past couple of months, it has been noticed that the world has been met with far
greater religious extremism than ever before. Be it the Peshawar massacre in Pakistan,
the Charlie Hebdo attack in France, or the most recent one in the United States which is
being called the Chapel Hill shooting; the world has seldom gotten a chance to wipe off
their tears and enjoy life with a smile. Where are we headed is a question that seems to be
extremely hard to answer as we progress in time. We have not failed as Muslims, Hindus,
Christians, or Jews, but it surely seems and also feels like we’ve all failed at simply being
human beings. Such barbarity doesn’t even seem to exist within the circle of untamed
animals! As the clock ticks to a new hour, we get even more further away from being
completely incapable of love, tolerance and above all, able to live with harmony.
With a dispute over something as trivial as wrong parking, on the February 10th 2015,
suspected perpetrator; Craig Stephen Hicks was accused of first-degree-murder of three
people, namely Deah Shaddy Barakat, Yusor Mohammad Abu-Salha and Razan Mohammad
Abu-Salha were killed in their home in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.
In the aftermath of the attack, many American citizens got up, protested, and a vigil was
held in which thousands of people took part. Deah’s mother was also present during the
vigil and has been reported to have said, “He died of hate crime and his legacy is never
hate. You don’t respond back by hating the other. You respond back by love. By peace, by
mercy. That’s Deah’s way.” It was extremely courageous for a mother to speak up like that
for a child who was wrongfully murdered in cold blood. A public funeral was held after
two days of the incident and was too attended by many. A series of investigations were
also conducted where the police forces tried, and perhaps are still trying, to get a clearer
picture of what exactly pushed the perpetrator to go ahead with such an unspeakable
crime. Was this just a dispute over parking or was hate a major issue like it in so many
cases?
Family members created a Facebook page dedicated to the three victims. The shooting
was also given a great amount of attention from other media forums such as the New
York Times, BBC, and the Guardian and it soon received widespread coverage around the
globe. Newspaper agencies in France, Germany, India, and Israel did the brilliant job in
bringing this story to a larger audience globally as well.
The President of United States released the following statement after the attack, “Yesterday,
the FBI opened an inquiry into the brutal and outrageous murders of Yusor Mohammad
Abu-Salha, Deah Shaddy Barakat, and Razan Mohammad Abu-Salha in Chapel Hill, North
Carolina. In addition to the ongoing investigation by local authorities, the FBI is taking
steps to determine whether federal laws were violated. No one in the United States of
America should ever be targeted because of who they are, what they look like, or how
they worship. Michelle and I offer our condolences to the victims’ loved ones. As we saw
with the overwhelming presence at the funeral of these young Americans, we are all one
American family. Whenever anyone is taken from us before their time, we remember how
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they lived their lives – and the words of one of the victims should inspire the way we live
ours. ‘Growing up in America has been such a blessing,’ Yusor said recently. ‘It doesn’t
matter where you come from. There are so many different people from so many different
places, of different backgrounds and religions – but here, we’re all one.”
The Chapel Hill shooting was condemned by political people from Indonesia, Iran, Jordan,
Saudi Arabia, Turkey, as well as by the United Nations. Sadly, Pakistan could not have
made it to that list as its own issues seem far from being resolved.
If we just go back to January 2015, Charlie Hebdo, which is a French satirical weekly
magazine that focuses on cartoons, reports, polemics, and jokes. Since its inception in
1970, the magazine has been the target of two terrorist attacks. The first one took place in
2011 and the second one in January 2015. The attack that took place this year is presumed
to be in response to a number of controversial cartoons depicting the Prophet of Islam.
The perpetrators were found to be Al-Qaeda in Yemen. Before the shooting, it was
reported that two armed and hooded men accidently entered the Charlie Hebdo archives.
After realizing their mistake, they managed to get to the headquarters just in time before
their identities were revealed. Outside the main office, they used the cartoonist Corinne
Coco Rey to use her security pass and help them get inside the building. The armed men
sprayed the lobby with gunfire killing anyone who dared come in their way. Corinne was
then forced to take them to the on-going editorial meeting where the staff members were
having the first news conference of the year. Everyone was gunned down there except
for one woman who claims the gunmen spared her due to her gender and asked her to
read the Quran. She was found running out of the office shouting the Arabic version of
‘God is great!’ Twelve people died and another eleven were injured after the brutal attack.
Politian’s from around the world joined hands and protested against such kind or violence
and mass killing.
Before that, yet another heinous crime was committed in our own ‘land of the pure’ where
the Pakistani Taliban took the lives of more than 141 innocent people, where the majority
were children, in a school in Peshawar. They claimed that they reacted in such an inhumane
manner in retaliation to the military offensive being carried out in the northern areas of
Pakistan. However, that does not in any way justify what they did. Children were butchered
alive yet no one stood up and supported even the bereaved.
The point of narrating all three incidents here, especially the latest one being the Chapel
Hill shooting, is to bring forth the rise of intolerance towards peoples and their views not
just in Pakistan but in all other countries as well, including the superpower such as the
United States. The question still remains, when will violence in the name of religion end?
When will this world became a safer place for people? Why are we our own murderers?
Why? So before this becomes a never-ending cycle of bloodshed and loss, I suggest we
wake up to a new dawn where a hefty amount of intellectual minds come together and
put an end to this charade.
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Life through Rose-Colored Glasses
You’re invited, the Oscars – my first ever facebook status. Those were my vociferous
appetite – the movies. I recall it initiating from a figment: me dancing with Marylin
Monroe with Maria Callas’ eloquent voice whistling in the streets of Montreal gilding our
trails. It was sensual, romantic and magical. I had no idea that when I would break out of
the dream, it would wrench into witchcraft; a wild obsession that would haunt me like the
demons of the Mad King.
I remember the first movie I ever watched in nominal maturity – The Last of the Mohicans.
It was my paralyzed uncle who offered me the watch, and now when I visualize it in my
head, a weird nostalgia confronts me with a certain obscure aroma – a fragment that sort
of completes my biopic. It was a never ending streak; the searingly absorptive process that
submerged into my consciousness and ingenuity. I was practically imitating the artists I
would see on the screen – Daniel Day-Lewis, Jack Nicholson, Meryl Streep. The notion was
seamlessly crafting me into an archetype of a movie buff. Soon, it wasn’t just related to
the movies, I was all soaked into the technical aspects as well: cinematography, costume
design, make-up, production, direction, visual effects, music, cast, screenplay – everything!
I was scrolling down the internet for Academy Awards’ list, sorting and classifying movies
– genres, actors, actresses, writers, directors and any other divisionary element I could
find. I couldn’t afford to buy or rent movies so I started working at a video rental shop.
Every now and then, I would take some CDs with me to home, watch them, annotate them
and place them back. Normally it was twenty to twenty-five movies that I would watch per
week; that’s the least I can remember.
I was completely lost in my dream world; a wonderland. In lieu of understanding films as a
source of dalliance, I associated them with my life, or I would mold them that way. I would
read biographies, get to know celebrities for real. I even tried to contact their agents (believe
me it’s not easy to get in touch with them). As prognosticated, it was an arrant failure. The
flame didn’t die there. I would foray into the internet, look into their filmographies and
view them. It didn’t have to be at the earliest convenience, not even convenience; I would
watch them all at once. I was visiting cinemas more than I visited school. I wasn’t spoiled;
it wasn’t the mainstream hangouts with buddies some may imagine. They were rather
aimed at intellect – the kind you get when you adopt unflinching skill at accents, voices,
expressions, tones, the sense of abstract quixotic vision you are instinctually bestowed with,
the melodramatic lessons you learn, the emotions you feel on someone’s death; you feel
the victim was actually close to you than just being a manifest figment of the movie. This
background substantially assisted me in dramatics; I would portray characters brilliantly,
imposing on even the slightest adjectives that defined them. Eventually I felt I was being
dissociated from my real self, but it didn’t matter anymore. It was like being a transsexual,
but only that my other gender was an obsessive rollicking freak – the cryptozoology’s
Loch Ness Monster of the undiscovered depths of the Pacific. I was writing movie reviews
on IMDb, rustling through the artistries I had witnessed, trashing out my beliefs and
opinions. My booming perfection lead me to superiority complex suffrage – I would
mock people around me, excessively rejecting notions of the lay-men and the amateurs,
39
criticizing less popular celebrities on articles and public forums. Then tumbled upon me
internal devastation, flakiness – it was the inhibition of violent tendencies, the ‘weirdo’ and
the ‘talking frenzy’. My parents had been constantly disapproving of my idée fixe, and now
they practically converged to end this anarch-syndalism.
The success, and what was wrong with me back then, came from exactly the same place.
It wasn’t armchair psychology, but I did in some way come to an emotional halt, although
some part of that did stay forever young. The reminiscences with distant dallying La Vie
En Rose still seduce me to relive those wonders – The Broke Nostalgia!
- Hamass Mujadid
40
Farewell, oh humanity!
On Tuesday 16th December, 2014, humanity was literally taken hostage and shot pointblank.
That was the day when 132 children went to school and never came back. It has been months
since the dreadful attack at the Army Public School in Peshawar that scarred not just the people
of Pakistan, but global citizens. Tears don’t seem to dry up even now and an unprecedented
fear has engulfed us from all corners, but let this be a message from us too to those murderers
who have the blood of innocent children on their hands that we will not back off now. We will
get back at you in all the ways possible.
The attack which began somewhere at eleven in the morning by six gunmen took these
precious lives in retaliation to the military offensive, Zarb-e-Azb, being carried out in the
tribal areas to eradicate these monsters who claim they represent the Islam that Holy Prophet
Muhammad (P.B.U.H) preached. They entered the school via the boundary wall at the back
and went straight into the auditorium where a lecture on first aid care was taking place. The
terrorists started shooting the children without any cause. The survivors of this brutal attack
claim that their Principal, Tahira Kazi, who was earlier rescued, quickly made calls to the
panic stricken parents and then went back inside the school to save her ‘children’. She was
later burnt alive and the young children were made to watch. Even in that pain and agony, the
courageous woman only instructed her students to run and save their own lives.
Once the attack began, the Special Services Group personnel came and from there onwards
began an all out battle in the administration block where the terrorists were prevented from
going any further and were later killed. Hundreds of more lives were saved and brought to
safety immediately. But the question still remains? Will hanging these killers, two a day make
any difference? That too in seclusion? No. We want to witness their death and see from our
own two eyes that justice is being served.
Islam is not a religion of violence and bloodshed. That too being done on children who
only crave for one thing; education is disgusting to even think about. The Taliban clearly
represent a cancerous version of this peaceful and forgiving religion. If they know so much
about Islam, how about we shed some light onto Surah Al-Alaq, which happens to be the first
Surah revealed to the Holy Prophet (P.B.U.H) and which was the first step in a very long yet
rewarding journey of spreading a new religion. The Surah highlights the importance of the
pen and how essential it is for people to get educated. The religion itself on a whole gives
ample room to reasoning and human intellect which in no way justifies this heinous crime on
children. One of the survivors has been found to have said that while in the auditorium one of
the terrorists asked the children which one of them had parents in the army. A few, oblivious
to what was going to happen to them, raised their hands and were shot in the head.
A student from Lahore who was once in the Army Public School said, “Seeing blood on the
uniform I once used to wear. Don’t have words to describe this. Prayers for the families who
lost everything today.”
Pictures that surfaced onto facebook and twitter show scenes from nothing short of a butcher’s
house. With dead bodies piled up in one corner and a sea of blood in another, it was heart
breaking to see that these animals could have been so cruel and cold in the heart. Even after
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such an open act of terrorism, some Pakistani’s are still of the opinion that the current Prime
Minister of Pakistan should resign. Yes, no doubt that the elections of 2013 were in no way fair
and just, but when will this nation realize that at the moment rigged elections are secondary
while battling terrorism is of the utmost importance. Somewhere in between this fight of PTI
and PML-N we all have seemed to put one of the most basic things at stake: safety!
It must be understood, clearly and without any ambiguities that the Taliban are not people
with whom you can have endless talks with. They are the enemy. And if history is recalled
here, the enemy is only eradicated, not spoken with. Yet the government made all efforts
to have these talks but then the attack on the Karachi airport took place and the military
offensive was launched. Even then Imran Khan, chairman of PTI, suggested that talks must
take place and later went on to his own route of endless protests which eventually had an
outcome that could not be written down in his favour. For once can these politicians put aside
their differences and work for the betterment of Pakistan? For once can they put the people of
this great nation beyond their own materialistic needs?
Although all the terrorists who have been detained in various jails across Pakistan are now
being executed, it still doesn’t feel right. These animals deserve a far crueler end. They should
be displayed in public and stoned to death just like the Satan is before Hajj or Umrah or
should be hanged publicly for days so that only their remains should be left behind for the
dogs to feed on. Moreover, this whole execution process should have begun with Maulana
Abdul Aziz of Lal Masjid, who had the audacity to support this attack, and Mumtaz Qadri
who assassinated Salman Taseer for speaking against the blasphemy laws in order to protect
a Christian woman. Abdul Aziz has even named a library at one of the mosque’s seminaries
after Osama Bin Laden. He’s still alive and not six feet under is something that hasn’t been
understood even now.
The survivors of this merciless massacre have ended up in trauma wards, wounded not just
physically but psychologically. They hardly shut their eyes with the fear of something lurking
behind the shadows. I cannot fathom the thought of them going back into that school with the
same vigor and determination. The thought of anything happening to them at any given time
will haunt them even more than before. Just, one ninth grader survived and that too because
his alarm clock did not ring and he skipped school. On Tuesday, he put his entire class to rest.
Malala Yousafzai, who was targeted by the Taliban in October 2012, condemned the attack as
well and said, “I am heartbroken by this senseless and cold-blooded act of terror in Peshawar
that has unfolded before us.”
I look at my own books and instantly get visuals of the blood stained ones from the school in
Peshawar. I enter my auditorium and see bodies scattered all around. I look at each and every
child and say a silent prayer for his or her protection. Oh Taliban, what have you done? But
then again there hasn’t been a single night when I have gone to sleep without cursing these
inhumane people for polluting my religion, spreading hate, and killing our future in cold
blood. So if the same happens to you tomorrow, don’t complain. We’re coming for you. The
entire nation is. The entire world is.
- Ali Hafeez
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The Two-Nation Theory – Prudent or Indiscreet?
Voltaire atones for the wrongs of Vercingetorix and it is by the new vigour of India and
Pakistan that the old system must be judged. Hindu nationalism had much in common
with the English nonconformist radical movement. Hindu majority meant Hindu rule,
recession of British power and Sir Syed Ahmad Khan came with the framework of the
alienation movement – The Two Nation Theory.
Muslim India had already begun to display a deep distrust of the undiscriminating
liberalism which would mean the reign of the moneylender and the Brahman. They feared
rule of non-Muslims once again. Was it the greed for power? At this point, they were only
asking for adequate representation in the parliament. It was like anarch-syndalism, they
couldn’t get a proportion that would easily pursue their motives. Where most Muslims
were backward in Western education, they aimed for the unrealistic managerial posts.
To most of them, it was axiomatic that political change would not come as slowly as
biological evolution; A perceptible fall, unfairness, nepotism; it was inevitable because of
various social pressures and that stubborn baseless hope of a unified Indian state under
the Muslims. The subcontinent had, apparently a soil in which racial intolerance grew very
freely. The split grew because Muslims did not accept the ominously totalitarian doctrine
of the Congress and Congress Muslims were anathema to the Muslim League. Something
more positive was needed and it could only be provided by government native to the
country, a government with experience – establishment that ruled earlier, establishment
of the Muslims. By 1940, Muslim League had officially adopted the ‘Two Nation Theory’.
It was now aimed at attaining a separate Muslim State within India.
For political sake, Muslim League did not come up with the policy until it realized that
Hindus and British were in no mood of granting Muslims more than their proportionate
right. Muslims knew that if Hindus ruled a unified Indian state, their interests would not
be considered. Mr. Jinnah at many instances worked to promote Muslim agenda but it all
went in vain. Finally, he had to add a pinch of salt to his political movement by pointing
out the discrimination and religious biasness. It had to gain massive support; Muslims
were being oppressed, he wasn’t lying. But where was that agenda half a century ago? Was
it the ego-centric nature of the Muslims that they couldn’t stand being ruled even if it was
legitimate? The league was patriotic, no questions there, but was it promoting autocratic
greed through a democratic argument? It’s true that Muslims might not have gotten the
human rights they enjoy today in Pakistan, but if Pakistan was made on the basis of a
separate religion, how did East Pakistan separate less than 30 years of independence?
Apparently it faced the same issues – lack of adequate representation in the parliament.
What sub-continental Muslims were trying to achieve was from one perspective, an honest
demand, but at the same time vague, baseless and evidently contradicting the universal
instances on the contrary – Emancipation Proclamation, African-American Civil Rights
Movement, secularization and the multi-cultural nations living together. If our leaders in
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the past were right, how come Muslim Indians still live in peace, in lieu they mock on the
prevailing circumstances of the Pakistani Muslims? We are still the same Muslims that
strived for independence from British and Hindu oppression just half a decade ago, but
now intellectually confront our own ideology by massive dwellings in their very country
– United Kingdom. Maybe criticism of the Muslim world today is a true insight of the
mainstream mentality that prevails!
- Hamass Mujadid
44
Jurisdiction on Cultural Visions
Reliving the science-fiction scribbling of Angels & Demons – Robert Langdon, adventure,
symbols, architecture, art, religion, science, art, philosophy and the lifestyle – the
artistry is soundly reflective of the Italian culture. I wouldn’t really confound myself on
distinguishing between the regional differences. It’s only the mainstream notion and off
the sample knowledge that converges to the point of European culture (although I don’t
personally see much of a difference in the cuisine and cultural associations with the rest
of the world, not to say it originated the same way; it obviously had a superlative stance).
The thrust of the Renaissance drastically influenced the contemporary magnificence
of Europe - mainly the closely interlinked countries: Spain, France, and Italy – not to
say that the EU members are substantially differentiated. My primary infatuation isn’t
practical, I haven’t practically experienced their norms, values and traditions – it’s mostly
from the fashion articles (Elle, Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, etcetera), eloquent BBC anchors,
the ‘signore’, the romantic and nostalgic depictions of Woody Allen, exquisite Italian
meatballs following a healthy “mamma mia”, the exotic Ferrari and Maserati – coupled
with a searingly quixotic yet hopeful imagination that is evident of the astounding lifestyle
they inhabit in and hoist the dear land of Mazzini.
Proving the supernatural prominence of Italy in terms of its culture is probably a
repercussion to the venerated edifice and insight of the artistic parties. The curiosity for their
unwritten trends originated from my participation in the Robson History prize organized
by Trinity College which is itself superintended by the University of Cambridge. The
research seamlessly transited to absolute passion. Boundlessly refining to various regions
of Europe and elsewhere, we now acknowledge Italian dishes as the descended rewards
from heaven. This is evident from the fact that nearly all multinationals specializing in
hospitality offer various Italian dishes, and the effort that goes into the making of these
masterpiece is reflected through the bill receipts at the end of the memorable dinner. Even
if we do not go to the noble habitué, a simple phone call delivers us the most consumed
dish of the world – PIZZA!
It’s not just the food. Being a sacred place to the Catholic Christian community, Italy
offers accommodation to people from all over the world, providing for their homelike
atmosphere, enriching its own bank of versatility. The religious pillar is known for its
craftiness, architecture, paintings and that sepia-look that gives a nostalgic appearance to
the believers, with Emile Durkheim’s notions of the sacred and the profane revolving in
their heads, St. Peter’s Square and Basilica being the primary focal points of faith-followers.
A city within the Vatican i.e. University of Sapienza, has always been a lifelong dream of
mine on pursuing my studies in linguistics at some point in time.
There was a point where Italy was submerged into the darkest of its ages, and it was
as sudden as the blink of an eye scaled to the universal zone that it surfaced out in
enlightenment. Today, we see it as a primary constituent of the European diplomacy and
cultural well-being. Where aphrodisiacs like Carla Bruni and Brianca Balti sting like arrow
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in the heart, ‘The Godfather’ trilogy alone lends a superb design of Italian societies. For
music lovers, the majestic revelation of Opera was of Italian origin that still spells roses.
The world’s advance in hospitality and tourism might not have been to the extent where
it prevails now. The infatuation with Italy is an immaterialist admiration of history’s
profoundly active landmark. You might run short of people on the planet, but never on
Italian civilization (if only the remains of it)!
- Hamass Mujadid
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The Role of Sports in Our Loves
It’s generally known that people who do physical exercises keep fit and healthy. Sports
and games can be of great value to people who work with their brains; to people who lead
a sedentary lifestyle. Moreover taking up a sport has also many psychological benefits.
Firstly, it relieves the stress of everyday life and secondly, it helps individuals identify with
a group and replace their loneliness with the security of belonging.
Besides playing, a sport is very useful for character-training. It helps young people to
gain such virtues as discipline, perseverance and courage. But sport is not only a popular
pastime and contest of human abilities but also a school of life.
It’s an excellent lesson of winning and losing and the epitome of what life is. We lose and
win. If you can easily accept your loss, analyze its causes and go on working - there is a
chance for you to be a winner, next time!
Surprisingly, people in Poland don’t play sport too often. They tend to be plump and prefer
passive participation in sports activities, like watching sport on TV. The favorite Polish
sport is football. We can also see football matches on stadiums but unfortunately it has
become dangerous because of football-hooligans, who go out to fight in the streets with
other fans as a pleasure.
Not all types of sports, however, are healthy and safe. Some of them can even be violently
dangerous and extremely risky hence, they are often called extreme sports.
The list of dangerous sports is quite long. They include boxing, motor racing, ice diving,
bungee jumping and many others. Extreme sports can be very addictive. Once people
have experienced these sports, they never want to stop. They are like a drug for the brave:
dangerous but both pleasant and exciting.
Summing up, people all over the world are fond of sports and games. Sport makes people
healthy, keeps them fit, more organized and better disciplined. Moreover, many believe
that it unites people of different classes and nationalities.
- Syed Hasaan Shah
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Surfing on ‘The Rising Tides’
The Principle of Uniformitarianism elucidates that geological events can be contemplated
to foresee world’s future predicaments.
One such predicament would be the rise in sea levels. Sea level rise would be an inexorable
part of our future, no matter what steps we take. Even if all CO2 emissions are halted
today, seas will rise 3ft by 2050 and 5ft to 9ft by 2100. This- not drought, species extinction
or excessive heat waves- will be the most dramatic effect of global warming.
The aftermaths of a 9ft rise will be catastrophic. Incursions of salt into the water table
will destroy most of our agricultural land - for instance the central valley of California
- the corrosion will devour the electrical and fibre optic system of coastal cities as well
as our roads and bridges. Amsterdam, Miami, Venice and many other cities might have
to be abandoned. The melting of the ice caps will not be a slow trickle of water into the
sea; it will release armadas of ice bergs that will make shipping in the Southern Ocean
hazardous. As icebound regions collapse, now sources of energy resources might also be
revealed-as will geopolitical battles over who owns the right to them.
The complex melting of the ice sheets, stagnant oceans, and greenhouse extinction; our
future in a world without ice caps would certainly be dreadful.
A range of material has been inscribed to reflect the predicted possible menaces. “Shifting
Seas in the Greenhouse” and “A Semi-Empirical Approach to Projecting Future Sea Level
Rise” specifically discuss the consequences of sea level rise. Peter D. Ward, professor of
Biology, Earth and Space Sciences in University of Washington projected a sea level rise
of 5ft to 9ft by the end of this century.
The geological investigation on Sunda Shelf of Southern Asia exhibited a per century rise
of 15ft. As might be expected, in greater jeopardy are the small, low laying islands, such
as those in Caribbean, the Pacific, and the Indian. Continental regions will include the
vulnerable Mediterranean, West Africa, and South Asia.
Climatologists believe that the emission of CO2 is a certain factor for this inordinate
inclination. The CO2 levels are prognosticated to hit 600ppm by 2100, that is, the level
equivalent to when there were no ice sheets even at the poles - this transpired over 2
million years ago.
One profound driver of CO2 escalation is the ever-increasing human population. Population
increase has caused rising atmospheric CO2 levels. Increase in population count means
consumption of more fossil fuels, and the planet can bear only so many billion carbon
footprints. The world in 2009 employed 245 million barrels of oil per day. By 2030 the
figure is hypothesized to boost to 325 million.
In 2008, the number hit 6.7 billion. By 2042, the population is expected to reach 9 billion.
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By 2150, population is expected to reach nearly 9.8 billion. Some assessments suggest
that in future as many as 30 billion people might occupy the planet at one time. The
modern food production and energy they necessitate emit greenhouse gases. So far,
human population is considerably correlated to the absolute level of CO2 in our planet’s
atmosphere. It is estimated by the EIA report that in 2030, worldwide demand for energy
will be 50% more than the world produces today, creating an ever-greater demand for
energy. The protuberance implies an even massive want by the end of 21st century.
Just as the increase in population will cause increased energy demand, so too will the
world be required to come up with more sustenance than we produce now. A hundred
years from now, a significant portion of arable land would be swallowed by sea. The result
is an estimated four billion deaths between now and 2100 according to an analyst, Peter
Goodchild.
As the heat intensifies and temperature rises by 6º F, crop yields will fall 20 to 40 percent
by 2100, aggravated by evaporation and loss of soil moisture.
IPCC corroborates the prediction that 62 developing countries will exceed the 54º to
57º Celsius threshold by 2070. By 2080, the expected 3ft sea level rise would result in
fewer than 15% of today’s output in America and coupled with the dramatic increase in
its population, USA will suffer a hard time. “The Impact of Climate Change on United
States Economy” predicts the percentage crop yield gain or loss of several countries by
2080. SFIAST, a Swiss institute enlists Tanzania, Mozambique and the DRC to face major
famines. This accounts for a billion deaths by 2150.
Peter D. Ward discusses a possibility in his book, The Flooded Earth, “The one that as a
scientist I believe is the most likely: the ice sheets melt rapidly, the sea rises ferociously,
and all the scenarios set forth in this book come to pass.”
World Health Organization projects a continuous rise of disease until the late 22nd century,
especially in regions like South Asia and African states. Millions die because of water born
diseases and forecasts indicate no variation in trends. In 2000, roughly 2 million deaths
occurred from sanitation associated diseases. Lack of fresh and treated water infects crops
and hence, human beings. Some 2.4 billion people lack access to adequate sanitation.
Pollution reduces freshwater resources. World Water Report predicts that by 2050, at worst
7 billion people in 60 countries will be short of water.
Our world is heading towards a dead end. Unless something is done in time, our chances
of continuing the so-called standard of living and prosperous lifestyle would be shattered.
Mankind, for its own sake has demolished its habitat. The outcomes of creating an artificial
dwelling might sound rejoicing in the short-run, but its impacts will not only worsen
our living conditions but also brutally murder billions of inhabitants. We need to find
keys to overcome this foreseeable calamity. We need to find environment friendly energy
resources - employ solar, tidal, wind and even nuclear power. Deforested regions have to
be reforested, transform farming practices radically. Food supply is going to be a foremost
issue of the coming century. Human population must be reduced, for it is the source of
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increasing emissions. 20% of emanations are due to deforestation, and planting trees in
a significant amount is our only chance to remove atmospheric CO2. Charred coal, wood
and agricultural waste is been proposed to bury both on land and in the deep ocean to
store carbon rather than allow decomposition to return it to the atmosphere. Another
land-based scheme would be to grow plants that reflect more light back into space - plants
that are light green rather than dark green in color. If oceans are cooled and the plant life
in them is increased, atmospheric CO2 would greatly reduce as it makes its way into the
oceans. Geographers can carry out plans for this such as fertilizing oceans with nutrients
synthetically. The Silicate Carbonate Weathering cycle-as the geographers call it, can be
naturally paced to remove maximum CO2 by Silicate rich rocks. Ocean acidification can
be resolved by processing and grounding Carbonate rocks. Other solutions to foreseeable
adversities include seeding the clouds, building ocean cooling pipes and changing the
salinity of sea.
With the contemporary industrialization process accelerating all over globe, it is impossible
for us to completely get rid of CO2 . Even if the risks are minimized in the forthcoming
years, Stefan Rahmstorf ’s theory of a rise of at least 4ft is inevitable. Global warming
would persist the melting of glaciers and ice sheets, proliferating temperatures globally.
Geographers of the 22nd century would be confronted with the most perplexing issues,
topics that would adjudicate our survival on this planet. Annihilation of habitat, rapidly
multiplying population in contrast to the lessening cultivable land set a high probability
of vast species extinction, ravaging tsunamis, hurricanes, surge storms and intensified
temperatures. These irrevocable constituents of world’s future would undeniably be
geographers’ major concerns. Geographers need to consider and critically evaluate each
of the issues and their respective solutions and improvise them effectively to prevent
any cataclysm. If these affairs are not dealt with, the fate of mankind will be vulnerable.
The problem, of course, is money. Who will pay for the measures? But if we hesitate in
investment, it is pitiful; for the nature’s wrath is ordained.
- Hamass Mujadid
50
Mystery in the Ozone Layer
High above Earth, more than 20 miles above sea level, a diaphanous layer of ozone
surrounds our planet, absorbing energetic UV rays from the sun. It is, essentially,
sunscreen for planet Earth. Without the ozone layer, we would be bathed in dangerous
radiation on a daily basis, with side effects ranging from cataracts to cancer.
People were understandably alarmed, then, in the 1980s when scientists noticed that
manmade chemicals in the atmosphere were destroying this layer. Governments
quickly enacted an international treaty, called the Montreal Protocol, to ban ozonedestroying gases such as CFCs then found in aerosol cans and air conditioners. On
September 16, 1987, the first 24 nations signed the treaty; 173 more have signed on in
the years since.
Fast forward 27 years. Ozone-depleting chemicals have declined and the ozone hole
appears to be on the mend. The United Nations has called the Montreal Protocol “the
most successful treaty in UN history.” Yet, despite Montreal’s success, something is not
quite right!
A new study by NASA researchers shows that a key ozone-depleting compound named
carbon tetrachloride (CCl4) is surprisingly abundant in the ozone layer.
“We are not supposed to be seeing this at all,” says NASA atmospheric scientist Qing
Liang.
Between 2007 and 2012, countries around the world reported zero emissions of
CCl4, yet measurements by satellites, weather balloons, aircraft, and surface-based
sensors tell a different story. A study led by Liang shows worldwide emissions of CCl4
average 39 kilotons per year, approximately 30 percent of peak emissions prior to the
international treaty going into effect.
In the 1980s, chlorofluorocarbons became well-known to the general public. As the
ozone hole widened, “CFC” became a household word. Fewer people, however, have
heard of CCl4, once used in applications such as dry cleaning and fire-extinguishers.
“Nevertheless,” says Liang, “CCl4 is a major ozone-depleting substance. It is the 3rd
most important anthropogenic ozone-depleting compound behind CFC-11 and CFC12.”
Levels of CCl4 have been declining since the Montreal Protocol was signed, just not as
rapidly as expected. With zero emissions, abundances should have dropped by 4% per
year. Instead, the decline has been closer to 1% per year.
To investigate the discrepancy, Liang and colleagues took CCl4 data gathered by
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NOAA and NASA and plugged it into a NASA computer program, the 3-D GEOS
Chemistry Climate Model. This sophisticated program takes into account the way CCl4
is broken apart by solar radiation in the stratosphere as well as how the compound can
be absorbed and degraded by contact with soil and ocean waters. Model simulations
pointed to an unidentified ongoing current source of CCl4.
“It is now apparent there are either unidentified industrial leakages, large emissions
from contaminated sites, or unknown CCl4 sources,” says Liang. Another possibility
is that the chemistry of CCl4 might not be fully understood. Tellingly, the model
showed that CCl4 is lingering in the atmosphere 40% longer than previously thought.
“Is there something about the physical CCl4 loss process that we don’t understand?”
she wonders.
It all adds up to a mystery in the ozone layer.
- Hassan Abass
52
The Sacred Boomerang
Charles Darwin - It’s amazing how the work of a guy who died 131 years ago still makes
the Vatican squeal. His revolutionary philosophical theory, evolution, is a source of
controversy to this day. It provides an elegant explanation to a problem that has fascinated
humans since the dawn of their existence - How did we come to be? According to Darwin,
it was a series of small mutations, minute tweaks to organisms, which conferred them with
greater chances of survival. In periods when resources are scarce, the pressure to survive
results in the death of the weakest members of the species. In this manner, beneficial
mutations were preserved while numbers whittled down. Eventually, new species were
formed. The implications of this theory were shocking; the slack jawed, TV watching
humans of today may have evolved from simpler organisms as well. At a stroke, Darwin
provided the logical justification that atheists, according to Richard Dawkins, needed to
become ‘Intellectually fulfilled’ while shaking the religious, like me, to the core.
When I first crossed path with the evolutionist’s work, I, like my fellow zealots, rejected
the notion immediately. After all, how could we be related to the banana eating fuzzy
mammals down at the local zoo? I took solace in religion, believing that God couldn’t
be wrong. Yet over the years, I found my views softening. Outright rejection turned to
heated protest which turned to dislike. The evidence in support of the theory was simply
overwhelming. The fossil records, empirical observation, even the human genome itself
all pointed towards evolution. The inklings of dread seeping through me, the kind you
feel when you realize your phone isn’t in your pocket, made me feel disgusted of myself.
The thoughts beginning to permeate me directly contravened all of my religious beliefs.
In desperation, I began to search for answers. I talked with religious leaders, the
nonreligious and even solicited the opinion of a budding genetic engineer based in Hong
Kong to no avail. Then I turned to religious texts in my hunt for the truth. To my utter
shock, I learned that a belief I had been fed through childhood might have been a lie
- Religion does not deny evolution occurred. Nowhere in any holy book has the theory
been directly contradicted or rejected. It all depended on perception. The world’s major
religions all pipe the same story in different tunes; God fashioned man out of mud or clay,
breathed life into him and cast him down upon earth when he sinned, all in the space of
a couple of days. If you view it from their perspective, atheists do have a point; a bearded
guy living in a cloud, blowing on a piece of rock and chucking it down to earth doesn’t
exactly sound like a plausible explanation of the formation of mankind. Atheists deride
this as a ludicrous tale while the religious interpretation makes it sound like they think we
are actually sentient, magical, talking rocks. That was the main issue - taking everything
too literally. What if the tale was related in a figurative sense? If divine books are littered
with figurative allusions, why couldn’t this be one as well? What if God used evolution as
a catalyst in our production? The idea fits in so snugly with all of the data. It explained the
elusive ‘missing link’, the dormant frog genes in your heterochromatin and the possibility
of us arriving in this world fully formed. Thus, I became a theological evolutionist. God
does exist, evolution did occur. We are the perfect creation - we just got to this point
first. To the revilers of evolution who wonder why we haven’t evolved in the last couple
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thousands of years, it hasn’t occurred because the environment no long exerts pressure
on us. We are the only creations who can mold it radically according to our needs. To the
atheists, I’m sorry; I’m not writing a book here.
The flame didn’t die there. Occasionally, I foray into the internet to watch people thrash
out their beliefs, assuming that if they type in caps lock, their points become authoritative.
They kind of remind me of myself a couple of years ago, when I was confused, indoctrinated
with false beliefs, susceptible to quoting people I really hadn’t read or researched about,
narrow minded, naïve and caps lock loving. Today, I feel like I’m more scrutinizing and
open minded, with thoroughness (in research) that you would usually associate with the
IRS trying to find taxable dues you may have. In my endeavors to debunk evolution, I
have evolved.
- Hamass Mujadid
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Young People in the Media
The media, in today’s day and age, has achieved new heights where stardom and fame;
two extremely important things one certainly does need today, are not limited to older
people alone. Talented people from all walks of life are given a reward-worthy chance
of presenting what each individual has. The sudden importance that has been given
especially to the younger generation owes a great deal to the media.
What readers need to understand today is that the media should not be limited to just
television. There is print media too, you know? Young people are now being given a
chance to not only become young stars but also published authors via newspapers and
blogs.
If we just shed some light into the publications, we see young people being shown as
a source for radical change. They seem to give hope to people that there is a bright
future that lies ahead. Similarly, when those publications are turned into worldwide
extravaganzas that hit the big screen, they have a different impact altogether. This
goes onto show the level of importance the youth holds, especially in terms of a greater
future. A further explanation of this could also be derived to show that the media
clearly wants to put the future in the hands of the youth.
If that, dear reader is not something amazing then I really don’t know what is. Breaking
all divisions, at least there is a platform to vent out on if nothing else.
Yet, another question arises and that is what does the media really represent the youth
as? I’ll tell you. Rude, arrogant irresponsible and snobby little scums. Take the example
of the latest books (they are also a part of the media; print media) such as the Hunger
Games, Divergent, Red Rising etc. What are they depicting? The youth is all about love
and overthrowing ruthless regimes.
Giving false hopes to young aspiring people isn’t right. It’s simply not right in so many
conceivable ways.
Becoming young stars has no harm attached to it. But when you make a mistake and
die of a drug overdose or break-up from countless relationships, it has a terrible effect
on the young people who follow you and have a liking for you. Failing at something
is part and parcel of life. But the media clearly represents that as a crime. What about
the other senior people? Don’t they make mistakes and falter? Yes, they do. The only
difference is that they are not as ill-treated as perhaps the young ones are.
The media clearly doesn’t deem the younger generation even, appropriate enough to
be given that respectable space to voice out their concerns. They have problems too.
They have concerns too. And it’s high time they were given their due right.
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How long will they be subjected and stereo-typed to action movies and romance novels?
They need to voice their concerns to a level where they are able to make significant
changes to the society they inhabit and which in return despises them so openly.
So rather than showing them as a way to overthrow your governments, let’s first break
this façade of the media.
- Ali Hafeez
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Graphology
The science of finding out about a person’s character from his handwriting is known as
“Graphology.”
There is a definite and unmistakable relationship between a person’s handwriting and his
character. A man is what he writes. No two persons write exactly the same way. They can’t
even if they want to.
Here are a few points to show how to use handwriting study to pick ones personality and
character.
1.
MARGINS will tell you about the sense of proportion of the writer.
i)
When it is wide on both sides, it denotes an artistic and aesthetic nature. This
person likes harmony and order. It also denotes that the person is a spendthrift and
easy come, easy go is his motto.
ii)
Ones that are too narrow, indicate extreme economical nature. These people
tend to be very careful in money related matters and are generally stingy and untidy.
If the right margin is too wide; the person is fussy, style-conscious and an extremist.
iii)
Proportionate margins indicate that the writer possesses good taste and is neat
and clean.
2.
SLOPE of a writing shows the degree of affection.
i)
Handwriting sloping to the right means the person leans out towards others and
is emotional. The person tends to express themselves very affectionately and usually
judge a situation clouded by emotions rather than logical thinking.
ii)
Vertical handwriting shows conscious control on part of the writer. These people
think about the things they are doing and tend to be very precise. They have great work
capacity and are logical thinkers.
iii)
Back handwriting shows more conscious control and a great deal of self-restraint.
These people are cynical and can sweet talk their way out of anything. They never do
anything they don’t want to do.
3.
FORM depicts the nature of a person.
i)
Exact copy of style of handwriting taught in school denotes, imitative nature,
unoriginality, common-place personality. It refers to someone with no ideas of their
own.
ii)
Flourished handwriting shows vanity and extravagance. These people act and
dress to attract attention. They are selfish and tend to be narcissistic.
4.
SPACING indicates a person’s state of mind.
i)
Regular spacing shows a well-balanced mind and good judgment.
ii)
Irregular spacing shows an illogical mind and poor judgment.
iii)
When loops of one line run into loops of other lines above, it shows a confused
state of mind and the person is considered as unreliable and weak in the financial
department.
- Farwa Batool
57
Women, Work, and Marriage!
Women, like most men, also work for a living. Some work fulltime and others work part
time. Whether it is to support their family, or just because they love doing what they do.
A stereotypical image of women after marriage is embedded in society which claims that
a woman should stay at home and do the household chores, prepare food, look after her
children and making her husband comfortable by giving him food and showering him
with affection after a long days work. Contrary to popular belief, this is not always the
case. All women may not have children or may not choose to be restricted by this archaic
ideology. There are women who work even if their conjugal partner is employed. This may
be to further support their significant others or just to earn extra money for themselves
or for an emergency.
Feminists chant the slogan, “No you make me a sandwich”, which is a reply to men ordering
them all the time and thinking low of them. Men become the bourgeois (ruling class) of
the family and women become the proletariat (working class). This could also be a reason
why women work so that they are not answerable to men as they themselves become the
breadwinner. One of my close relative, who is a female, has a job even though her husband
has a very lucrative job. She is a teacher and she does it because she thinks she is playing
her part in the society and contributing to it.
It all depends on the situation as well. Unfortunate events and scenarios might occur and
the women would have to work, such as the death of her spouse. Times are changing and
we are being ushered into a new age where women are powerful figures in the public
eye such as political leaders and business magnates. An example of this could be Oprah
Winfrey, who came from a less fortunate background and worked her way to the top. It is
a woman’s choice to work or not to work.
- Naveed Khalid
True Justice
Adam Renner woke up to his alarm clock. Dazed, he reached out to turn off the contraption
and sat up. His mind racing with thoughts of what may or may not happen today. He made
himself coffee and went outside to collect the newspaper which was the usual routine. The
headline read:
“Criminal hunter still at large”
The story informed about a gang of drug dealers supposedly working under the notorious
drug lord, Julio Estevez, who had all been killed about a week ago and since then there have
been similar cases involving all sorts of criminals, from murderers to even shoplifters, being
found dead. The police had been trying to solve the case but the FBI was said to have taken
over. Adam didn’t need to read anymore. He put aside the paper, got dressed in his usual suit
and headed off to work.
The FBI headquarters was pretty much what you’d expect to be, a tall office building of about
eight stories with glass windows and a basement parking lot. It was situated deep within the
city.
“Hey, Adam,” said a friendly voice as he headed to his workstation.
“Oh, hey, Jack” he replied. Jack Templeton was the closest thing he had to a friend in the FBI.
Other than that he mostly kept to himself and didn’t really bother others.
“The Director wants to see you, says it’s urgent,” said Jack. Of course it is, thought Adam.
“Uh, yeah, ok.”
He opened a door at the end of the corridor and found a stout, black-haired and bearded man
sitting in a chair going over some files in his hand. Director Phillips had a strict demeanor, he
always pushed his agents to find the culprit and expected the best from them and at the same
time he would do anything to ensure their safety. He waved Adam to the chair in front of him
when he saw him enter.
“What have you found out about the Julio case?” he asked
“Well, not much just yet,” Adam began, “We know the killer is smart, he uses a different
weapon every time, sometimes not at all. Even though he’s killed all sorts of crooks, I’m
convinced he’s more interested in Julio Estevez.”
“What makes you so sure that it’s just one guy? He could have an accomplice,”
“Hmm, unlikely,”
“Why?”
“Call it a detective’s intuition,” Adam said, smiling, but then saw the director’s frown which
made him add, “Trust me.” Phillips sighed.
“Well, that detective’s intuition has worked in the past, so I guess I’ll put my faith in you.
Carry on with your investigation, agent.” Adam was just about to leave when the director
said, “Oh, and one more thing,” stopping him in his tracks. “I know it’s not your style and
you usually like to do things on your own, but I’ve decided you’ll have a partner on this case.
Come in, agent.” Adam fully expected to see Jack, seeing as how he was the only person he’d
partnered up with once before, but instead a young, dark-blonde haired guy who he had never
seen before opened the door. He looked barely in his twenties. “This is Agent Roy Parker, our
newest recruit. He has great potential so be gentle with him,” said the director with a smile,
“Now off you go.”
They sat at his workstation as Adam reviewed him, reading his profile.
“Impressive. Got top marks at the Winston Police Academy, worked in the police force for
three years and were involved in cracking a number of cases,” he said, “So, tell me, what do
you think?”
“Huh?” said Roy, confused.
“About the case. What do you think of the killings?”
“Well, he appears to be carrying out some kind of justice in his own mind,” He? Thought
Adam. “The killer is probably one guy, the method is different but the pattern is the same.
Also, if there were more people involved I think we would’ve seen more killings by now. He
seems to be interested mainly in Julio Estevez since most of his victims are drug dealers. We
find Julio Estevez, we find him.” he finished.
Interesting, thought Adam. Roy seemed to have the exact same views as him, he had graduated
at the top of his class, also like him. They even shared dark-blonde hair.
“It says here your father was an officer, a successful one, but got himself kicked out on account
of shooting an unarmed suspect dead. There were witnesses saying the suspect had already
surrendered.” This seemed to make Roy irritated, his face flushed with annoyance.
“I’m not my father. I know the law, wouldn’t be here if I didn’t...” he said, a pause ensued.
“I’m sure you’re right.” said Adam.
“Do we have any leads?”
“Yeah, in fact,” Adam said looking at his watch, “We should go now to check up on him.”
They parked the car opposite to a restaurant called ‘Joy’s Choice’. It was midday, the sun was
up and many pedestrians were present.
“That’s our guy!” said Adam pointing to a short, bald man wearing a brown jacket and blue
jeans. The agents got out of the car and started tailing him. It had been only a minute when
the man started running as fast as he could.
“Let’s go, after him.” cried Adam. The man ran across fruit stalls, tossing over anything to
slow them down especially people on the streets. He shoved them behind him every time
he came across one. Eventually, Roy was able to cut him off at an alley, tackling him. It took
some persuading but eventually they were able to get information out of him regarding the
whereabouts of Julio Estevez.
“He’s at the Boston warehouse at Boulevard Street.” Adam reported to director Phillips, “We’re
gathering agents to apprehend him.”
“Good.” said Phillips. He seemed to ponder something after which he finally said, “There’s
something I have to tell you, about Roy. His father, you see, was also going after Julio. The
guy he shot dead, which lost him his job, was in Julio’s gang. A week later, his family were in a
car crash. Not an accident, mind you, it was some of Julio’s men. They survived the crash but
then he and his wife were killed, shot. Roy was the only survivor.” Adam was shocked at this
new information, he stared at the director in utter disbelief. The door opened behind him, it
was Jack.
“Director! Come quick, something’s happened!” he cried.
The man they’d captured was dead, the drug dealer who worked for Julio had been strangled
to death in the interrogation room. Roy appeared at the scene the latest at which point Adam
told him.
“We need to get to Julio before the killer does, come on!”
Adam, Roy and many other agents including the director arrived at the location.
“PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEADS AND WALK OUT!” yelled Phillips, through a
loudspeaker. This was answered by a number of men coming out of the single story complex
carrying automatic weapons. They took cover behind a bunch of vehicles and started shooting
at the FBI officials. A fierce battle ensued in which several agents were injured, FBI vehicles
damaged and chaos prevailed. It took the help of police reinforcements to finally get the
situation under control. A couple of the gang members were shot dead but most were taken
alive. Towards the end, the director was shot in the leg and Adam rushed to his aid.
“No! Go after Julio, we’ll never get this chance again!” he said. Adam obeyed and, with Roy,
went inside the warehouse. They saw him running, his silhouette fleeing away towards the
back of the building and so they chased him. He was trying to start his car when they caught
up to him.
“Freeze!” yelled Adam, but Roy went past him and smashed open the window of the car with
his gun, grabbed Julio by his collar, brought him out and started smashing his head against
the side of the car.
“Roy, stop!” said Adam forcibly removing his arm from the drug lord. “It is over.” he said,
looking at him straight in his eyes.
“No, it’s not.”
After a while, medical support arrived, ambulances taking in the injured officers and suspects.
The director was treated and was to make a full recovery.
“So, that’s another case over. You should be proud,” said Jack.
“First we’ve got to put dear Julio, where he belongs.” as he said this, Adam noticed something
wrong. He couldn’t find his car and then he noticed something else, “Where are they?”
“Who?”
“Julio and Roy!”
His worst fears had come true, everything he’d suspected were coming into play but it was
also because of this that he had taken precautions, he knew where to go.
“Hey, you mind filling me in?” Jack came with him, it was his car he was driving and he
figured it was good to have some back up.
“I know who the killer is.” he said.
Jack spotted the car, it was parked along the side of the road and there was a figure standing
beside it. Adam stopped right behind it and got out, pointing his gun directly ahead with Jack
next to him. Roy turned around, perplexed, a gun in his hand. Julio was inside the car with his
mouth taped shut, grunting loudly.
“How did you find me?” he asked. Adam held up his phone which showed a GPS tracking
system.
“I installed a tracker in my car, can’t be too careful.” he said with his usual smile which was
immediately replaced by a painful expression, “Roy, what are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” said Roy, his voice quiet and dangerous, “I’m doing what you people lack
the will to do! What my father had the will to do!”
“There are better ways to do this, this isn’t true justice.” said Adam. Roy replied with a harsh,
demented laugh.
“And you think you know what that means? You people make these rules convincing yourselves
that they’re for the betterment of society.” he said, “But they’re all just a joke. You’re a joke!”
“I’m sorry, Roy, about your parents,” said Adam sympathetically. Tears welled up in Roy’s eyes,
his face disturbed. Adam continued, “But it’s over now, so just put the gun down.” The longest
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pause ensued, Roy looked from Adam to Jack and back to Adam who had lowered his gun.
“You’re right,” he said finally, “It’s over.” Roy raised his gun and fired. A searing pain in his
torso, the wind knocked out of him and his vision blurred. Adam was shot but refused to give
in. He heard one, two, three gunshots and knew Roy was down.
“No.” croaked Adam, finally going to ground.
“Adam!” yelled Jack, “Officer down! Requesting immediate medical attention! I repeat, officer
down!” he spoke into his walkie-talkie, “You’re going to be fine, Adam, you’re going to make
it!”
He lay there, cold, lifeless, the darkness of the night absorbed him and he passed out. He woke
up lying in a bed, a bunch of flowers beside him as well as ‘Get well soon’ balloons.
“You’re up,” said Jack. “I was getting worried,” They didn’t talk much for a while, mostly sat in
silence but eventually addressed the elephant in the room.
“You know, I read his profile.” said Adam, “Roy, he got ninety percent at the shooting range.
No way would he have failed to kill me from that distance.”
“Are you saying he never intended to kill you?” Jack inquired.
“Only himself.” he saw the guilty look on Jack’s face and said, “It wasn’t your fault you did
what you had to.”
“Yeah, I also proved him right in the end. Someone threatens to do something bad and the
most effective way to stop them is to kill them.”
“I guess we can never really know what true justice is.” Adam said, looking out the window,
“All I know is, I need a vacation.”
- Mohammad Uzair
Elysium
Searing heat. An amputated hand. The tumult of Israel’s approach. A never ending shriek.
Bliss. Favour. Responsibility.
Saad came back to earth with a sharp intake of air. It was over. His loose ‘kamiz’ clung tightly
to his damp skin, reflecting his suffused brow and the beads of sweat cascading down his
livid face. A crack of daylight peeked in through the tiny crack in the shabby curtains. Dawn
had broken. He gulped down the glass of water perched on his rickety bedside table. It had
been the same dream; the same dream that came night in and night out to torment him.
It had occurred so frequently that Saad had begun to believe that it embodied something
more ominous, more insidious in nature – a premonition. Looking in the nearby mirror,
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he realized the amount of pain he was walking through. His otherwise handsome face had
become swallowing. He looked famished. He felt sick. Deciding to calm down his nerves, Saad
stumbled out of his room to the terrace. For a moment he was at harmony. The sky was pale
blue with vivid streaks of orange and mauve. Wisps of cloud roved the skies. The patches of
chrysanthemums, roses and tulips swaying in the delicate zephyr that seemed to caress their
papery petals. The grass was laden with sheen of dew. The sun, oh the sun! What emotions it
aroused, glowing just above the horizon with a mellow charm. For a second that contained
an eternity, heaven had merged with earth. There was no omen in the picturesque morsel of
Eden of what was to come before the end of the day.
Like any other good Muslim, Saad had been groomed to offer his five daily prayers. These
prayers along with four other pillars of faith, constituted the edifice of Islam. The Khawaja
family had always been on the religious side, so they wouldn’t have even dared to miss the
Friday congregation. Wolfing down his breakfast, he marched up the stairs to change his
clothes dutifully. It was jam-packed by the time he got to the mosque; with the congregation
already erect waiting for the Imam’s signal to commence their prayers. Saad managed to get
in line for his prayer.
The first words of prayer were offered by the Imam, who lightly murmured in the microphone.
Blinding heat and indescribable horror, it was painful, sacred and intuitive. Saad had been
caught in the midst of utter pandemonium. It was surreal. Blood matted his lank hair and
was smeared across his recently blocked clothes. He was buried to torso in rubble. The roof of
the mosque caved in, instantaneously siphoning out of most of the unwary worshippers. He
soared across the courtyard and slammed into a wall. Coming out of his reverie, he noticed
that he was missing his lateral incisors (if he came out of this ordeal in one piece). He was
being crushed to death. Saad gave a colossal push, he was free. He staggered on to his feet
and slipped on something pushy. Glancing down, he beheld a ghost from another world – an
amputated hand!
There are times when man goes wild, when everything seems to defy the law of nature. He
was able to feel the cold injection of adrenaline now, pulsing through his veins. Bewilderment
sprung up, ensnaring the senses. Why him? He dashed blindly, paying heed for neither life
nor limb and somehow wounded up on an ambulance. The lad had been caught in the middle
of a suicide bombing attempt. A terrible shriek echoed through this confusion.
Saad’s eyelids flew up. He briskly sat up and bounded off. He ended up in the midst of the
all too familiar courtyard. He wasn’t caught; and he certainly hadn’t done it yet. It was time
now. In that moment of truth, the surrounding walls toppled on him. The tumult was candid,
and aberrant. Izrael, the angel of death ascended. As the walls drove the remaining air out
of his lungs, he wasn’t thinking of the dilemma he had just brought on his parents and other
innocent souls. The dream had turned out to be a premonition after all. His mind could only
comprehend a single feeling at the moment – Elysium!
– Hamass Mujadid
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Ordinary Love
“Just tell her this: I was an ordinary man living in an ordinary world. I had no monuments
dedicated to me, and my name shall soon be forgotten. I was not a man of much worth; but
the thought that I’ve loved you with all my heart and soul, has always been enough…”
With these words, the old man closed his eyes forever. His white, wrinkled face gleamed in
the sunlight. He lay lifeless with his head on my lap. The crowd turned away in dismay. The
lively street of Henderson turned gloomy with sorrow. But his words did something to me,
what was it?!...
“I’m very sorry ma’am, but I have to say, with much grief, that your husband, Mr. Brookes, has
departed from this world. It happened today, down at the street, a case of hit and run.”
I announced this obituary to the baffled widowed wife.
Her lips curled like a rainbow, twitched, as the tears rolled down her wrinkled face. Her blue
eyes lost the spark of life that once shone like a twinkling star.
She began writing down something on a piece of crumpled paper. The dead body was brought
inside. I told her the last words of the old man, and she could not keep herself together. She
dropped the pen sobbing, and whispered, “…I love you…”
Passion there was none. Object there was none. I felt for the old lady. There was this philanthropic
aroma that brought me to her house once again, a month after the tragedy.
I enquired about her health. She was a benevolent lady, very noble, and mother-like. She
offered me coffee. The house was small, fragmented with the smell of fresh flowers. The
aroma of coffee had blended in. I felt cozy and comfortable.
“I was nineteen, when we met. The whole town was full of life. It was November, we became
friends. It grew, turned into love… But he never proposed me.”
I saw her face turn lively; the past memories flash through her eyes.
“But I presumed he was never going to either. I was broken to bits. Hopeless, I travelled back
to London on New Year’s Eve. The night overshadowed the town. I walked past Desert Inn.
Road. The wind blew, whistling below my ear. It was hurdling my way, as if deliberately. The
leaves rustled, the lights grew brighter and I heard a voice behind me say:
I’m not a man of much worth, but the thought that I’ve loved you with all my heart and soul,
has always been enough…
He wooed me in marriage. I had cold feet, but it was surreal. Since then, we lived together,
laughed with life, sang in exaltation, and redeemed every moment in these 50 years of
marriage. Dear, hearts are often broken, with words left unspoken. No one waits forever, but
regret haunts forever…”
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The tears eventually lessened her agony. I left her place after sometime but her words
circumvented my mind… Hearts are often broken, with words left unspoken…
As the night overshadowed, the lights got brighter. It was New Year’s Eve. As I pondered upon
the lady’s dilemma, I was consumed by a similar notion. Maybe I was destined to experience
and feel her predicament. Maybe it came as a revelation for my life, my love – Emily. Does she
want me to take that step? Was this what had been troubling me since that day?
I enquired from Emily as to where she was. At the New Year’s open bash on Desert Inn. I took
my answer. I took the road.
The wind blew stronger, the stars twinkled brighter, the lights filled the air, and the snow fell
lighter. The leaves rustled, the trees swayed, the flowers danced, as I rushed across the street
swiftly.
And there she stood. Dressed in an elegant red gown, she glittered with the nightlife aroma.
It was my cut now. Like a gate crasher, I gushed in.
“I’m an ordinary man, living in such an ordinary world. I have no monuments dedicated to
me and my name shall soon be forgotten. I’m not a man of much worth, but the thought that
I’ve loved you with all my heart and soul, is and will always be enough!
Will you marry me? ...”
The whole crowd gasped, Emily stood unnerved. It was all silence. And then a voice behind
her said, “Say yes!” The whole crowed cheered. Emily giggled. The inverted rainbow on her
face was priceless.
“Yes!!! … What took you so long, and what made you fall on your knees, finally?” She smiled,
overwhelmed with happiness.
“Sometimes the unconnected lives and events of some people influence you, like they were
meant to tell you something. It might be tragic for some, but it turns your life into something
special…”
- Aaima Humayun
Maria
“Oh man! 150 km? You have got to be kidding me right now!” I exclaimed as I travelled from
Lahore to Islamabad for my MUN. It was about seven in the evening and I was exhausted.
Long distance driving may sound good, but driving constantly for four hours is achingly
exhausting. I was in need of a place to spend the night at.
No hotels were to be found as I drove past a locality. “Pretty isn’t it?” I said to myself; itchy
eyed and yawning, while watching the sun set majestically behind the open fields.“Oh, finally!
Here it is.” I said excitedly as a medium-sized house appeared around the corner of the street.
It was an old wooden house with rusty windows and damaged fences. It looked alright at first
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sight. Some furniture could be seen inside, through a window on the front. The lights inside
were off even though it was midnight, so I thought it might be vacant. I parked my car, and
went for the door of the house (which was surprisingly unlocked) to see if someone’s in there.
“That’s some fine furniture right there.”I said with a smirk on my face as I looked inside.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I went inside to explore it.
The lights and taps worked fine. Most food inside the fridge was fresh. I was glad and had no
bad intentions; I just needed a good place to rest. In a bedroom upstairs; from where I could
see my car, I lay myself on a bed, arched my back against the wall and took a nap for a while.
My sleep was interrupted by the sound of footsteps of someone climbing the stairs. The lights
were out and it was dark. My heart started pounding with fear when I saw a reflection of
candle light on the door. At that moment, I was nearly dead for sure.
The light flew away and there was no sound of footsteps to be heard. I was wrapped up like
a ball, covering myself, deeply terrified. “Hello.” I heard a feminine voice behind me, as I
turned around, there stood a girl in a black and white dress, holding a candle in her hand. I
jumped back a little as I was shocked. “I am Maria”, she said politely. I felt relieved and hence
introduced myself to her. We talked for a while and she gave me the permission to spend the
night in her house. The light, however, didn’t come back.
I woke up early in the morning the next day and looked around the house for her; to say
goodbye as I had to leave. She was nowhere to be found so I left a note to thank her for
allowing me to stay. Then I left the house and soon reached my destination safely.
Later, I shared this experience with my friends. A friend of mine told me that there is a muchtalked-about story of a young girl in that side of the city. He caught my attention so I asked
him to elaborate and hence he explained: it was popular among the people of that area that
there is a girl named Maria who lives there and is probably a ghost. The folklore has it that
Maria always has a candle in her hands, wears a black and white dress and that there is always
electric power supply failure during her presence.
I nearly fainted after hearing this…
- Faizan Javed
The Light of Day
The sun rose to go down again. And so it did that night. No longer did the golden hues
enveloped the skies, it was all black. The city was just a silhouette at sunset, but at night fall it
seemed to be entirely gone. Though once brightness owned the heavens, darkness had taken
over. Black was going to be the lasting ruler that night.
A giant ball of white hung high up above, its glow so eerie and cold that it could turn it’s seeker
to stone. The canyons down below were endless black holes with ruthless coyotes howling to
their hearts content. A traveler wouldn’t have survived that night, the dark itself would have
been enough to drain the life out of him. The wind even seemed to sleep at that hour as the
silence in the empty and unknown plains was incredibly unbearable.
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The nocturnal were the only ones wide awake that night, for only they were chosen to witness
the evil. An owl sat on a leaf less tree as it looked to the moon and observed its mysteriousness,
but that was all. It flew away.
The angel of darkness was in ecstasy. And his territory didn’t end just here.
The city was ablaze with black. Nothing seemed familiar anymore. The day and night did not
belong together, neither did their kingdoms feel the same. The people of day were nowhere
to be seen, no wonder was it, for if they came out they knew they wouldn’t see the light again.
The night was very strange to them and hiding away from it suited them best. Hiding away in
the mere sheets of cotton. Through which black could creep. They were fools to do what they
were. Darkness was going to conquer tonight.
The parallel universe that ran up above the city was suffering the same fate. The darkness had
taken the form of clouds to innocently hide the face of the moon. Slowly it slid into blackness
as the secret it harbored seemed to be going with it forever, never to be uncovered. The moons
companions, tiny twinkling balls of hope weren’t spared. They were giving signs to the seeker
down below of impending doom.
Signs of endless blackness and eternal silence. The seemingly tiny helpless stars were crying
out for help as the darkness engulfed them in its course. The sordid enchantment of the lord
of black was seeming to be successful in its order. His throne was blacker than black and his
eyes were full of muted rage. He was there yet not. He spread his wings over his kingdom and
covered it, suffocating its helpless inhabitants. Time froze in its steps. It stood still as his wings
jammed the atmosphere. It all had become far too much to handle.
But truthfully black has its colors.
A patch of blue suddenly appeared out of the dreadful black. The lord cried with agony, as an
unwanted visitor had come into its territory. It grew all over the black. Washing it away and
bringing a new sense to the atmosphere. It was all over for the midnight. The blue did its job
and paved the way for its brothers and sisters. Happily came along yellow and orange, red and
pink, fuchsia and mauve, purple and teal.
This melody of warriors turned the forbidden land into the hopeful place it once was. Once
again, nothing was strange and everything was familiar. The night had fallen and the light of
day had come.
- Abdul Mustabeen Javed
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The Laptop
While coming home from work one day, I noticed someone had left their damaged grey
laptop lying in the middle of my driveway. I got out of my car to examine it more carefully.
The LCD definitely showed signs of user related damage, as there was a large screw driver
hole on the left side of the screen. There was a webcam above the display as well, which was
also destroyed with the same screwdriver. Other than that, however, everything else on the
computer showed minor signs of wear, but nothing to the extent that it could be considered
unusable. I looked at the back of the display to find out what brand it was, and yet, I couldn’t
find anything. I looked at the entire laptop’s shell and there was no text or logo stating what
brand it was. In fact, there was no warranty sticker, no ‘proof of licence’ sticker on the bottom,
no text whatsoever. Even odder was the fact that the only ports on the laptop were a VGA port
for connecting an external display and a USB. How long could this laptop have possibly run
without a charging port to recharge? Must have been one of those where you had to remove
the battery pack and put it into its own charging dock. Why did it have a webcam, though?
Curious as to what exactly was inside the laptop, I ran to my basement where my old desktop
was stored. I removed the old CRT monitor from the desktop and plugged it into the laptop. I
went to push the power button when…
I stopped! There’s no way this is going to work, the battery has to be dead by now.
I rummaged around the basement to find the voltage tester. I immediately withdrew the
battery from the laptop. Lo, it had no charge. With that, I unplugged the display from the
laptop, put it back onto the desktop and simply left everything downstairs.
I was suddenly awakened from my deep slumber by the sound of the ‘start up’ jingle of the
Windows 2000 OS and fell out of my bed. It was so deafeningly loud. I could swear someone
was holding a pair of speaker’s right next to my ears. For a minute or so I tried to figure out
what that sound was. The desktop! I must have accidentally hit the power switch while trying
to switch monitors! I simply walked to the basement, but froze in my steps. I remembered
there was no way my computer could have started up with such a sound; I had an earlier OS
installed on my computer. When I walked down, I was shocked to see that my desktop wasn’t
on; in fact, I remembered it wasn’t even plugged in. There was absolutely no chance of that
laptop turning on by itself, it was impossible. I removed the battery from the laptop again and
re-checked the voltage.
Once again, I slid the battery back in and pressed the power button on the laptop. Some
indicator lights flashed, meaning the computer definitely started, except this time the start-up
jingle didn’t play at all. I had to know why. I connected the CRT monitor back into the laptop.
And what I saw was a bare desktop with 3 icons in the corner. The task bar was empty, and
there was no Start menu button.
The owner must have been a pretty skilled hacker to remove the Start Menu button. There
were three icons; a ‘Games’ folder, a ‘Videos’ folder, and a ‘DOS Command Prompt’ program.
Clicking on the Games folder confirmed my suspicions; it was a little girl who must have
owned this laptop. The program’s name was “princess.exe”. I clicked on it, the game was called
“Princess Creator: Make Yourself Beautiful!” I wanted to see what the girl looked like, so I
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clicked on the 2nd option. She had to have been no more than 5; Spanish or Mexican. She wore
a somewhat tattered white dress with small red frills around the sleeves and collar. Browsing
through the photos, about halfway through, there were pictures of a room with nothing else
but a bed inside. After that I felt I’d seen enough with that program, might as well go check
the other two files on the laptop. I decided to go into the Command Prompt and see if I could
locate any other files on the hard drive.
Suddenly the screen faded to black. I thought it had crashed, but I noticed that there was a
small light flashing in the top left corner.
Suddenly, the text “start :\>videos01.wmv” flashed for a brief time, followed by a video. It
was the girl again. This time, she was smiling, her face made my heart feel warm. My guess
was that she must’ve been recording herself playing the dress up game with the webcam. I
reached over and pressed the power button, and…
… It didn’t shut off this time. The video continued to play, and I saw the girl this time was
wearing an orange tank top. She was smiling and giggling as usual, so I thought maybe I
could turn off the computer after the video was done. It couldn’t be that long.
The next cut began; the girl was just staring at the camera with no expressions on her face.
What was she going to do? She leaned over to the left side and picked up a hand saw. She held
it in front of her, showing it to the camera. Then, she placed the jagged blade on the side of
her cheek. Slowly, she began piercing it into her flesh. Blood drizzled down her neck, as she
continued. Slowly, the side of her teeth began to show, as the saw went lower down her face
more of her teeth began to show on the side. The right side of her face was almost covered
with blood. Her cheek fell to the ground with a small thud, I couldn’t take much more of this
gore and tore the battery out of the laptop, but, the video continued to play.
Then, the next cut began. The girl screamed in extreme pain. A knocking could be heard
from the side. It was a woman, she was pounding the door. The girl must have locked it. I tried
to unplug the monitor from the laptop but it was stuck in.
The woman was pounding at the door and yelling. That woman must have been her mother.
The girl then raised the saw up to her right shoulder, and began cutting just as slowly as the
last time. I gagged at the sight of this. It was a holocaust of wrong. The blood began to stream
in all directions. The yelling behind the door fell silent.
Oh God, what was she going to cut off next? The mother returned back with what seemed to
be two other people, and they were all yelling. She raised the saw, and began cutting the right
side of her head off. Loud thuds appeared in rhythms at the door. They were trying to knock it
down. She slowly worked her way down, with blood going in all sorts of directions. Her right
eye rolled into the back of her head. The thuds continued, and deep in the back of my mind, I
hoped they wouldn’t be able to break the door down so they didn’t have to see such an awful
sight. She finally made it through, and with that, the right side of her head fell to the side of
her neck, held on only by a piece of skin on her neck.
The cut ended, and the next cut began, the people trying to break down the door finally
made it in, and they almost blacked out from what they saw. Their daughter was in pieces.
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The mother vomited and ran out of the room. The father ran to her daughter, put her head
back together and cried, holding her head at the side of his. The other man, presumably the
daughter’s older brother, simply stared in horror at what he saw.
The horrifying self mutilation finished with that cut, and the screen cut to the empty room
with the bed. With a sigh of relief that it was over, I just sat there, breathing heavily, flushed.
Finally, I got the courage to get up out of my seat. I looked at the laptop for what I hoped
was the last time. The room with the bed glared on the screen. Then, it cut to something else
unexpectedly.
It was a cut of my face, in the basement, using the laptop…
- Khuzaima Jillani
The Opposite Side
As I drove away in my car, I bid farewell to the towering buildings of the city, the rising smoke
from the factories, and the traffic on the roads, the constant nagging of people at market
places, and the noise in general of which I, and perhaps so many others, were a victim of. Alas!
I was ‘escaping’, for that word aptly describes my feelings of the urban lifestyle, to my father’s
ancestral village. Throughout my formative years, I was told tales of the peaceful and utterly
serene village life. And that was exactly what I had in mind as I planned my voyage.
I was well aware of when I had left the city behind me. The bumpy road welcomed me
like nobody had ever before. I chuckled each time the car hit another bump. I had never
experienced such a joyful ride! As the driver drove closer into the village, the road grew
narrower and narrower. The high sunlit clouds drifted across a clear blue sky. Washed and
dusted, the trees glittered. The picturesque locale engulfed the car from all corners. But just
as the driver picked up speed to get off the narrow and seemingly dangerous path, a huge
truck full of construction material, bricks and cement, approached us. The driver slowed
down but the truck driver seemed to be in a hurry. He kept honking at us expecting my car
to just evaporate in thin air and vanish out of sight. The driver; however, managed to move
it sideways but at that very moment we could either save our lives or damage the rice fields.
The latter seemed too precious to destroy. The truck driver could not care any less and simply
sped past us, creating a great adrenaline rush, avoiding us by just an inch.
“Oh, please! Just get off his road. Now!” I literally shouted at the poor man. He slammed his
foot on the accelerator and drove like a man on a mission. Soon the trees left us behind and
were instantaneously replaced by endless fields of various agricultural surpluses. That itself
created a splendid view. I rolled my window down and breathed in the fresh, crisp air. “Ah!” I
sighed. The smell of the earth was truly intoxicating.
The car stopped in front of an old-fashioned hut made from bricks and mud. There was no
sign of any usage of cement or paint during the construction. It looked desolate with an eerie
and ominous atmosphere. The hut had two openings, perhaps for the windows. Although the
stench from the rubbish dump was nauseating.
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Mooo!
I jumped at the sound and turned around to see what it was, hoping against all odds that
I wasn’t what I was thinking it was: a cow. And I was wrong. Two cows stood behind me,
dumbfounded, chewing on grass, and giving me questioning expressions. I moved away
thinking that I might have been blocking their way to something.
It felt like my heart was at peace. Nothing worried me… nothing at all.
I opened the door to the hut and gingerly stepped inside. I was expecting someone to greet me.
Surely my father had informed our relatives still living here that, I was coming to spend some
quality time. Suddenly, fear replaced peace. I felt alarmed as my heart picked up a steady pace.
Blinded by the darkness of the hut, I guessed my way to a room covered by a curtain. I drew
it apart and to my horror saw what I hadn’t imagined to see here. I gathered my strength and
courage and shouted at the top of my lungs.
“Help! Everyone’s dead here! Help…!” Mangled corpses littered the floor and I had no idea
what or who did this. I certainly knew I myself wasn’t safe here.
-Ali Hafeez
Running Away
Running away! Running away from the truth; the truth of emotions, the truth of joys and all
the sorrows. This is what we are doing to everything because we are cowards! We don’t have
the courage to face what comes in the way of success. At least that is what she did. I saw her
running away from all the seminars held in the university, running away from her younger
sister in fear that the ice-cream in her hand could be hers and sometimes running away from
her parents. In fact, running away from every relationship she had; the reason was strange
to me. I’d always thought of her being one of the most sensitive human beings I’d ever come
across! I thought of her to be mature and understanding and that is why I asked her these four
words which would have changed both of our lives, “Will you marry me?”
I should have known that she was prone to running away, but this time I wanted to know the
reason, I didn’t want her to run away, not this time…
She had to realize the strength of every emotion, I had to make her understand.
When those days burn like fire in my mind, I feel I cheated her. I still feel guilty. But was it not
virtuous of me to do so? I had to do this. Besides, it was her carelessness which provoked me
to take a deeper look inside her head. She shouldn’t have left her diary there unless she was
brooding trouble. Being a human being I can justify my mistake on the grounds of curiosity.
The anxiety had been always compelling me.
“…My parents engaged me with a cousin of mine when I was only fourteen. I didn’t even
know how that one event might completely alter my future. Believe me, I agreed to getting
engaged with him only because I was naively infatuated. The reason might sound sensible at
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that age but a big no for now.” These were the words that I read in her diary on the very first
page. What I read later was partly satisfying and partly troubling.
“I have tried tooth and nail to satisfy myself that whatever my parents have decided for me
is right as they are my mentors. But every now and then the steadfastness of my belief is
diminishing, I have made futile attempts to explain my thoughts to my parents, but now in
time I have come to realize that what they care about is not my happiness but my stable future.
I have also tried to talk to my fiancée but he is so obsessed with me that he always tells me that
we would manage or this is what destiny intended for us. Once, he told me that life teaches us
everything, even to compromise. Today accepting his advice, I have decided to compromise
with my life. I have taken my tough decisions in life but this was the toughest. I know someone
loves me a lot if today in time I have decided to impart from this unfaithful world it’s because
of the confidence he bestowed upon me. I truly love you but I cannot tell you because a person
like me would not only ruin her life from this kind of attitude but also yours. I have always
run away from relationships and this is what I am doing now.” After reading the disturbing
pages from her life, I came to realize what she was going through all the time. I ran out of her
room, her house, to the one place where I always found her; The Secret Garden. I ran as if to
save my life. Truly that is what I was running for, the love and need of my life. Breathlessly, as
I entered the garden I could not believe what I saw.
She sat on the bench with a gun aimed at her forehead. I leaped to stop her. But the noise of
the shot echoed in my ears, through the confused channels of my brain. She lay on the ground
draped in a white dress like a sweet angel resting in the lap of peacefulness. I realized the
actual meaning of the last words in her diary. Once again she ran away, but this time, from
her life, and from mine.
- Sadia Jaleel
Alive
After I finished my college, I had waded out into the world with a head full of knowledge
and a heart full of will. I groomed my lifelong ambition of working at a renowned law firm.
Unfortunately, that dream went down the drain when the best job I was offered was to hold
someone’s coffee or hit the photocopy room. The best thing I could do was to accept what I
got and be grateful for it. The only down side was that for the next three years in the firm, I
was ‘the lousy photocopy boy’.
I wasn’t very happy about the job. I hadn’t seen my family in almost three months and was
about to be evicted from the slum I called an apartment.
One day, while returning home from the plight, I actually thought about quitting; not just the
job but life as well. There seemed no point in continuing my miserable existence. If I couldn’t
do anything productive in the world, I had no right to live in it. Such dark thoughts crept into
my mind and I couldn’t care less. But not much more thought could be given to these ideas
because a loud horn broke through my reverie.
Unknowingly, I was standing in the middle of the road staring directly at two headlights, as big
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as melons gushing towards me. I just froze and stood there. At that moment, I couldn’t place
the pieces together; the horn didn’t come to mean anything. It was just a sound, that buzzed
my ear drums, and that was all - meaningless and unworthy of attention. I did submerge into
terror, but it was from the utter darkness that surrounded me.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing that I saw was the clear blue sky. I lay on something
soft and found out that it was grass. The most green and the softest I had ever seen in my
life. I sat in a meadow – large trees surrounded me. The grass was covered by bouquets of
beautiful flowers that had sprung everywhere – Roses, stargazer lilies, blooming gazanias,
peonies, different colored hyacinths, calla lilies. Their fragrance was seducing, and soothing.
Tiny droplets of dew shone on the grass like diamonds and sunshine fell upon everything
making it look as if bathed in gold.
All in all that was the most exotic place I had ever seen and there I was all alone, in the middle
of it all. But soon I noticed that I wasn’t alone at all. A little boy who wore a white shirt was
sitting by a nearby tree. I got up and called out to him,
“Hey?”
He turned to look at me. I noticed that he couldn’t have been older than three to four years.
His short, curly, brown hair seemed familiar. He had big orb like chocolate brown eyes and
the bonniest, little nose. His lips were bright pink and so were his cheeks. He had the roundest
little face and in his tiny, chubby hands he held a paper plane. With a sudden shock I realized
that I was staring at my four–year–old self. My mouth fell open.
“Oh! Hello! I wasn’t really expecting you this early.”
His lips spread into a beautiful smile.
“You’re me!” I squealed, pointing at his in disbelief.
“And so are you!” he replied calmly.
“But-but…How?” I asked.
“Well, I don’t really know how to explain it, but I’m here to help you make a decision.” he
explained.
“What decision?” I asked again.
“You going back or forward.” He stated simply.
I stared at him a while as he smiled at me. It was hard to understand how calm he was about
all that was happening, while I was clearly losing my mind.
“What is this place?” I asked him.
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“This? Well this is a path or a midway between what you’ll be leaving behind and what you
will find ahead.” he replied
“And what will I find ahead?”
“I don’t really know. That depends on what sort of a person you have been in your life”, said he.
“You’re me! Shouldn’t you know what sort of a person I was - am?!” I declared
“Not really. I was a part of you, a stage in your life. I am the person that you were. But you
changed when you grew up. So how could I possibly know what you turned into?” he giggled.
My mind was so baffled that I couldn’t recall my own name.
“What now? Am I dead?” I interrogated.
“No. Not yet. You’re just careless. But you could be dead if you decide to move on.”
“Careless?”
“Yes.”
“But how?”
“You were bestowed with this life, to cherish it, but you decided to waste it.” He claimed.
“Waste?” I remarked in angst.
“Yes. You did nothing useful with your life. You didn’t even try to follow your dreams.”
“It’s not like I had a lot of options. I was stuck in an underpaid job!” I was shouting now.
“And whose fault is that? It has been three years since you got that job and you completely
sequestered the ones you loved!”
He was withering my temperament. The poor kid was better off alone playing with the dumb
plane.
“Well, even my family has never tried to get in contact with me. I was being evicted from the
slum I had called home for three years!” I shouted
“When one door closes it leaves room for another to open. Isn’t it good that you could finally
get a more decent place to live?” He asked.
“Stop it, alright? You don’t know anything about my life.” I squealed.
“You see! It is very easy to blame the universe for your problems, when your only actual
solution is to grow some guts and face them instead of running from them. Your life isn’t
miserable because the world has had some vendetta against you. These are your own bad
choices that have led you to where you are today. We think about ending our lives in a flash.
We make such rash decisions without even thinking twice and the only reason for that is
that we are cowards; we prefer only what we can seamlessly attain. It is human nature to fear
the unknown. But what is the use of fearing something when you will never get to witness
because of all the ridiculous decisions that you make.”
“We blame the world for cruelty, but never ponder upon the ambiguous stance we preserve.
What we forget to see is that if every once in a while we live our dreams and follow them to
where they lead us, the world might just be a happier place to live in. I’m not saying that all
dreams are appropriate or that all of them will definitely come true. There will be times when
by making decisions with your head, you might lose your way or worse, even lose yourself. But
during that dark time, the best thing to do is to look inside your heart and find where you went
wrong, or what you missed. Life, as you may now know, is too short to waste running after the
petty things, or to spend it blaming others for all your bad choices. If you wanted to change
your life that desperately, then why didn’t you do anything about it yourself? There are times
when a person feels helpless and stray but there is nothing like his own will power that may
help him recover from that puddle of darkness and make him walk into the light. Only he can
bring that change in his life.” He said.
I was baffled by the refined version of myself. I realized that I had deviated from the moral
codes and values that I should not have let go. It is true that the past clings on to you forever;
and I had just understood that.
“Aren’t you a little too young to know about all this? “ I asked.
“Well, maybe I’m just the smarter version of you.” he stuck his tongue out to me.
We sat down on the grass and laughed for a while. It was a good feeling, feeling that told me
that everything was going to be alright.
“What now?” I asked.
“Now you have to go back and live your life.” he replied.
“What if I don’t want to? What if I just go on with what I’m doing?” I asked
“Well, then I’d say that you’re a coward. But it is your own choice.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“I think, what’s the rush? Go. Live. Try to be happy and if you are not then we will be seeing
each other again someday or the other.” He smiled.
“Will you be here when I come again?”
“Yes.”
He smiled and drew his little finger towards me. I smiled and coiled mine around his’.
Everything went black and I opened my eyes once again. This time I saw a white ceiling instead
of the blue sky. There was something shoved down my throat, it was a very uncomfortable
feeling. I drew in a breath to clear my airway. It made me choke and a loud beep pinched my
ears. My view was blocked by blurry figures. One of them held my head down to kept it in
place. The other pulled that tube out of my throat. I could breathe properly now. They called
out my name and examined me to see if all my senses were intact.
I was fine, and soon enough was surrounded by family members. I was pleased to see them
at this time of physical agony, and most of all, I was happy because I got to see them again.
I had walked away from the accident with a broken leg, an arm, and a few fractured ribs. It was
a miracle because I had been in coma for three days. My father offered me to go back home
and stay with them until I recover completely. I knew I was going to lose the job but it wasn’t
important to me anymore. I was with my family, and I knew I would get a better job once I
get well. Even if I wouldn’t get it, I had a whole life in front of me – a new life.
- Tajwar Munir
What Money Can’t Buy
Tip tip tip.
Dripped the water from the rusty pipe at the corner of her single room house.
She sat idolly on the mattress without giving any attention to the pitter patter of the water,
thinking of it now, I believe she was mesmerised by the sudden turn of events in her life. Her
partner in marriage who had so ruthlessly abandoned her had now reappeared and proposed
her to live with her again.
I observed this woman that was sitting in front of me closely for once. She must have been in
her late 60s. Locks of white hair hung loose from her bun. The cruel passing of time had made
the wrinkles on her face like wretched scars. She saw me staring at her from the partially
opened door.She passed me a smile and asked me to come in. I did as I was told and sat beside
her on the saggy and lumpy mattress.
“Its a pity I couldn’t do anything better for you.”, I said.
“No. This is luxury compared to the streets.”
There was deafening silence and then I asked her about her past.
“My past you say?”she asked in a curious tone
“Yes. Your story. Who are you and how did you wind up on the streets?” I observed her face
closely now. She didn’t look at all like she belonged to a poor family.
“You dont look like you belong to a poor family.”
“Well if you’d like to listen to my story so much, I guess I better tell you what happened, it’s
not like I have anything to hide.”
She grinned.
“It all started when I was in my junior year of college. My father was an extremely rich and
successful business man. He always disapproved of my decision on getting admission in a
government college. He used to say, “All sorts of people come here”. I was always a wanderer,
I would often evade my friends and roam about the college and not care about who watched.
Everday as I would follow my routine of wandering about I would notice this handsome young
man circling the campus all the time. Rarely did I see any friends around him. I would often
look at him from places where I was not visible to him. I guess I had a slight crush or was
somewhat falling in love, the feeling was hard to define. One day I decided to talk to this man
that I had been stalking for a while.
I saw him talking with a friend of his, for the first time on the edge of the football field. I
waited. The expression on his face was hard to describe. I couldn’t tell whether he was amazed
or terrified.
“Hello” I said.
“Hello”, he replied half-heartedly smiling.
“My name is Maria and yours?”
“My name is Faizan.”
“Do you mind if we wander together?”
He couldn’t stop laughing. I was embarrassed by what I said and was about to turn around…
“Sure. I couldn’t agree more.”
I felt my heart beat hit the sky, adrenaline shoot through my body like thunder. My soul that
was on fire had finally been drenched in cold sweet water.
We talked everyday from then onwards.
I got to know everything about him that there was to know and he gained knowledge about
me.
He had no family, he studied and worked in a garment factory to earn enough money to
survive and keep studying and that was all.
I loved his purity - his simplicity.
He was a true gentleman, I couldn’t disagree with him on anything and I was sure I was in
love with him entirely. On our graduation day he proposed to me with a diamond ring that he
had been saving up for since the day we met.
I told my father and after weeks of constant persuasion, he gave in to my demand.
Faizan came to our house to officially and formally present the proposal to my father. When
he did, my father gave him a proposal of his own, which was to come live in my father’s house
and help out in my father’s business since he had no family of his own. My father clearly
mentioned that this was the only condition that he would give him my hand in marriage.
I doubted the fact that his ego would allow him to comply to my fathers demand.
I begged him again and again, consistently for the sake of our love to agree. He agreed only
on the condition that his respect in my father’s eyes and mine would never deteriorate.
He joined my father’s business on the first week of our marriage.
Faizan was my father’s brightest pupil. My father was amazed by the interest he had in the
business, as well as his skills. He would compliment him all the time.
Unfortunately, my father passed away only a couple of years after the marriage. Leaving
everything to my name, I had no knowledge of business dealing and I couldn’t be more
uninterested. I know now that he was feeling insecure because everything was in my name
and he was nothing more than an employ. I handed over the power of attorney to Faizan and
he became incharge of everything, but it wasn’t enough.
A year later we discovered that I was impotent. Faizan was devastated.
In order to keep Faizan from leaving me and to cover up for his insecurities, I transferred the
company and its assets over to him along with it.
Now that I think of it , I should have kept everything to myself to make him stay.
I was nothing more than a liability for him now and he did with me what happens to all
liabilities; they are disposed off. About five years later he asked the servants to remove me
from the premises before he comes back from work and they complied.
He didn’t divorce me though, I guess that’s the only reason he’s asking me to come back now.
This document on paper is the only sign of relation we have left...”
She suddenly stood up from the mattress and opened the exit door in front of which her
husband was standing, to apologize, cry, beg at her feet to make things normal again.
“We only have one life, I’ve ruined our lives ever since I made that mistake. I married twice
after I ruthlessly…” Faizan’s voice trailed off.
He continued, “…Last month my second wife also left me when she found out that I was
incapable and could never give her the happiness she needed in life. I could never give her a
complete family.”
“It wasn’t just you, I’m impotent too! Look what fate has done to me, even after having
everything in the world I have nothing, but I want to live whatever life I have left with you. I
want to make up for the lost time.”
He fell to the grass crying. She put her hand on his head. He looked up in hope…
- M. Salman Hanif
The Heat
This case was eating up detective Markahm from the inside. She had missed the essential clue
that could have lead to the conviction of J.J. Kershaw, who happened to be the prime suspect
in the Sarah Jameson murder case. The jury had ruled out Kershaw not guilty due to lack of
evidence.
The courtroom exploded into an uproar of shock, awe and disgust. The expression of utter
disbelief had inhabited Sarah Jameson’s husbands’ visage. Detective Markahm’s blood boiled,
as he was positive that J.J. had murdered Sarah in cold blood. He knew the face of a killer
when he saw one. The detective was not ready to believe what had just happened. He was
determined to take J.J. down for the animosity he had shown.
Detective Markahm was not your average guy; he was a hardened man as he had seen what
a man could do to another man. He had seen his fair share of blood and debauchery in
Afghanistan. He had served his country by enrolling in the Army Marines. Three tours of
circulation to the warzone and back home. He was no coward. He had earned a purple heart
for showing bravery at the face of the enemy for a mission he had served in Fallujah. He knew
what a killer looked like.
The Sarah Jameson murder was his first case as a detective. Two years in traffic had earned
him a detectives badge and he was not going to throw that away. He needed to prove to
himself and his fellow detectives at the precinct that he deserved the badge.
It was 3:30 PM and detective Markahm was stationed in his patrol car with his foppish partner,
detective Lebowski. Lebowski was picked on by detective Markahm, most of the time, due to
the way he dressed up. Being the tough man he was, Markahm had no interest in the trivial
aspects of his appearance and it was quite blatant as the detective sported an unkempt beard
and grown out hair. Markahm was a man of action not a dandy one like Lebowski. “I’m a
metrosexual Mark, come on! Stop it!” The radio beeped and requested for help at Perkins
Boulevard. “Shots fired, shots fired at Perkins Boulevard; patrol car requested!” Detective
Markahm was the first one to respond to the call and the first to arrive at scene.
Detective Markahm leapt out of the car and rushed towards the street cul-de-sac; his hand
firmly on his sidearm. Unfortunately, they were too late. The victim lay on the pavement in a
pool of her own blood. This was Sarah Jameson. The air felt rusty and brown. No one was to
be seen out of their homes.
Detective Markahm called in, and requested for the coroner and some back up. The victim
was shot five times. Two shots to the chest and three to the face. The shots appeared to have
dissected and totally disfigured the left side of the face. It was ruled out that the shooter had
shot Sarah Jameson at pointblank range. Both the detectives questioned the nearby home
owners about the incident and whether they had seen anything happen.
A neighbor named Mr. Dominic declared, he had seen what had happened and gave a rough
description of the perpetrator. The details were given of a man with long blonde hair, tall
height, and a tattoo resembling the Swastika. Detective Markahm, thought it could be a racial
crime committed by a gang. The Aryan brotherhood was known to have sported the exact
tattoo. The gang could have sent the assassin…
- Naveed Khalid
The Unsolved Crime
The inside of my car had become a smoke box by now. I could not find a decent place to put
this fifth cup of coffee. My passenger was a pile of empty donut boxes. It had been so long since
I had been sitting in the car that I had even forgotten where it was parked. I was thinking. The
cigars weren’t helping; neither was the coffee and the donuts. How did this happen?
Two girls who were playing on a stranger’s mini-bus, parked right outside their house, went
missing along with the mini-bus two hours after their parents had last seen them. The minibus was found that very evening. Till this point the case was as simple as a, b, c. The driver
of the mini-bus must have kidnapped the two of them. But could have the driver kidnapped
the two girls if he himself had the mental capability of an eleven year old? He was in denial.
I could not charge him with any possible crime. A twenty year old young adult, holding a
driver’s license, parked his vehicle to rest for a while. There was nothing wrong with that. A
person like that could not possibly be a suspect to a case of kidnapping, could he? Even his
mini-bus was clear of all evidence. I simply had no lead.
After four hours of pointless thinking, I decided to visit the driver named Sean house. He
lived with his grandmother; an old lady who had raised him since his parents died in a car
accident when he was three years old. According to his grandmother, Sean had been a quiet,
shy boy who had never gotten into trouble since his formative years. He normally took his
mini-bus for a ride twice or thrice a week. I found nothing at his house. I knew - I just knew
that Sean was in one way or another, involved in this case.
This case was standing in the desert with nowhere to go. I put Sean’s house on surveillance and
went to visit the girl’s aunt, who lived right next to their house. She lived with her husband.
Although they wished for one, they didn’t have any children. This was the reason why her
husband had become a drug addict. He was a rude old man. He did not answer any of my
questions and instead, asked me to leave their house. Now, the only way to get my questions
answered was to follow him; which I did. He led me to a bar, an old one. He smoked weed
with a group of people and came back home. This continued for another day. But, on the third
day, instead of going to the bar, he turned his car towards Waiston Street and parked it at the
back of a children’s clothing store. Something was finally happening that seemed valuable to
this case. I parked my car on the other side of the street and looked inside the store through
my binoculars. I was surprised. This was strange. It was not only him who was buying clothes
for a child in that’s store; there was someone else too. Sean’s grandmother. But why was she
there? The girl’s uncle did not have any children; neither did Sean’s grandmother. I decided
to follow the girl’s uncle first.
He left the store with some shopping bags and did not go back home. Instead, he parked in
front of another house and went inside. I immediately called for the police for backup and
broke the door to the house in order to get inside. The house was full of children. They were
not tied up. They were playing.
This was strange. An old lady came up to me, afraid, and told me that it was an orphanage.
She also told me that the girl’s uncle usually came here with gifts for the children and played
with them for hours. I apologized.
As soon as I left the house, I told the police that came as backup to follow me to where Sean’s
grandmother lived. We secured the house from all sides. I asked her to come out, politely. She
opened the doors and shot a bullet to my shoulder…
- Arsalan Nawaz
I thought, I knew.
What pain, felt like.
What whisking egg yolk in the bowl, felt like.
I am human, was hard for me to accept, but I did.
Both my upper & under consciousness are feral
They want me dead, but they leave me restless.
I thought I knew.
The feel, that feelings make you felt up with.
Embracing the truth is itself a lie,
Naked ambitions are all that space is filled up with.
My brain, and the blocks inside it.
Do not collapse, cause no friction anymore.
It is impotent. The mind can no longer manufacture,
“NEW”, at the rate of 20% per day. It is BARREN.
But, the lilies still sprout, everyday,
Like infinity, in my heart.
Like, thinking that makes you think of what you want to think.
I thought I knew, of what “I” was?
But, “I” was always a medium, the gory bits of me was “I”
Because they are the halves that halve you in half
I’ve come so far, actually just this far…
I’ve come to love and adore and well understand I,
I know what a conniving little lad this I, is
But, I can empathize with this I,
I can,
Sometimes, I confess that I can’t, but just sometimes,
I loathe to love and love to loathe this I, because maybe,
I see I in I,
Maybe, just maybe!
by Ali Arshad
83
An Optimist
I’ll be left alone
That was a thought
I had to carry on
Couldn’t sit back and simply rot
When twist takes yet another turn
And halts nowhere
That’s the situation where
No one helps and care
People run away
From your expectations
They all behave the same
Leaving behind suffering and emotions
Breaking the boundaries of your relation
Shattering the mirror of trust
Couldn’t believe they all could be like this
Was it a joke of disgust?
So, let the worries fade
Let go the pain and tears
Live a life that’s yours
For once, without fear
-Ali Hafeez
(A-1)
84
Fact or Fiction
We brew a cup of coffee
And sit in our favorite armchair
Open another classic
And drown in its pages
Maybe it’s the allure of the curious case of Benjamin Buttons
Or another mystery of Agatha Christie
But in general it is a single thought
We tell ourselves these stories so we don’t have to go through the lives we bought
The harsh realities of this world have shattered us
And the beauty in fiction is all that comforts us
If we want to thrive
We must fall into these tattered pages to survive
But there is a thin line between fact and fiction
And sometimes we go overboard
The pain of fact may be drowned by fiction
But ultimately it’s all just a hoax
There is no Prince Charming, there is no fairytale
There’s only the real world where all of us fail
You think that’s tough? You think I’m lying?
You think fiction will lessen your pain? Wait till your soul is dying!
There is a thin line between fact and fiction
And I like to dwell on the tip of the sharp sword
Not knowing when I’ll topple overboard
Falling into a chasm of sweet lies or agonizing truths
But I still grab the book, I still hold it to my chest
The faint crinkle of the sheets, the old smell of parchment
I dwell on the border of fact and fiction
And there is no greater pleasure than this addiction
By Farwa Batool Raza
85
Best Friends
We still have our haha’s and hehe’s
But I remember when it was just you and me
Just the two of us
I know it sounds like I’m making a fuss
Best friends - that’s what we called ourselves
And now look where I am – like a book on a shelf
All closed up while you have fun
We used to go everywhere, but I guess now that’s done
All you care about is your looks
I remember before we used to write books
Passing them on to each other in the hall
Knowing the other will laugh and might as well fall
You walk past me everyday
I say hi and you have nothing to say
All I see is you hanging with your other friends
I guess our friendship is coming to an end
We used to have our laughs and cries
But they’ve now been replaced with blatant lies
You tell me to do one thing while you do another
You’ve started to sound like my brother
All you’re doing is blocking me out
Telling me nothing, though I doubt
You have a good reason for such a thing
I can’t take all the distrust that you bring
I wish things would go back to how they used to be
When it was less ‘I’ and more ‘we’
I wish I knew where you were these days
To have you back as my best friend and perhaps end this phase
-Taziem Ud-Din
(A-1)
86
A Higher Calling
These little children working so hard
Picking up wrappers, cleaning the yard
Burning their faces against the hot sun
But determined to work hard makes them run
Holding a brush in their hands
They polish the shoes and clean the roads
They bear the scolding of their masters
They work on stations pulling the loads
Their smiles have vanished
Replaced by tears
Who will certain them those?
Native laughter and cheers
They’re the stars of someone’s eyes
They’re the light of someone’s heart
They have dreams and wishes too
Enclosed in their wishful hearts
So let us stand for them
And wipe their tears off
Give books in their hands
And sweep away their fears
-Syed Ahmad Hasan
(A-1)
87
The Devil
An evils minion to meet once
Travelled far to a framed dunce
To learn some skills of sin
And proudly be called ‘of Devil’s kin’
So he became the fool’s pupil
Soon to be his eye’s apple
Prenticed with him for two years
Many things he now knew
He learned for him, the canonic ills
To call pebbles giant hills
He made from trifles; squabbles grave
His heinous acts turned cradles, grave
Here comes the Devil to learn the dance
Soon his session comes to pass
The Devil drums, the dunces dance
What to yield is perhaps just another chance
The people, stunned and fancied, how
An idiot as such could teach as much?
When learning-men to idiots - bow
Come to pass then worries such!
Embrace upon advice one
All listen but follow none
- Ali Hafeez
Terror, terror!
Terror, terror, in everyone’s heart,
Blasting bombs everywhere,
Humans scream, dogs bark.
Going out to enjoy themselves, people don’t dare.
Terrorist is the one who terrorizes,
But no one knows, who that is.
Fiery fear in people’s heart rises,
One human, another human kills.
Nor the one who’s being killed knows why,
Nor the one who kills, knows.
Evil is at its peak, very high,
Filled with fervor are people’s vows.
There will be an end to terrorism, I know.
These atrocious people will pay the debt,
For those who are martyred, so,
Hold your hearts tight, they’ll be punished, I know.
There is a sort of, grudge, in them
What they’re giving others, God will give them back.
Have faith, God is just,
Have trust in Him!
-Syed Hasaan Shah
(A-1)
The World is a Prison
My mama always said life is a jail
You can either live out your sentence or try to break out and fail
There are no lose bricks, no easy way
You’ve made mistakes and life is how you pay
I thought she was ridiculous, a crazy-old bat
Old age must have gotten to her just see those grey locks beneath her hat
What jail has Fat Burger, what jail has Pizza Hut
If I knew what she meant then, I would have kept shut
She told me one day I’d open my eyes
See the world for what it is
And not a sugar-coated lie
She told me I’d see the monotony
And only belief in something greater can save me
So I opened my eyes and saw what surrounds me
People dressed in best but all divided black and white around me
Standing at the brim of my youth I see what my mother meant
The world is a prison. With standard divisions
A group of suppressers and a group of oppressors
If I tried to fit in, I had to choose to be black or white
If I tried to be different, it was solitary confinement
See beneath this pretty picture hides an ugly truth
The world is a small place
But once you realize just how small?
Claustrophobia will seize you and you’ll curl up into a ball
It all comes down to how you live your life
Do you live it in the brightness of black or the darkness of light
Or do you live it with faith and belief
That there is someone bigger up there who will give you relief
But the choice rests with you
With what you want to do
As you’re on your death bed about to be released
You’ll either end up in a bigger jail or finally have peace
By Farwa Batool Raza
Water In Our Blood
Is your family still together, just like way back when?
Do you stick by each other through thick and thin?
Or do you hardly know the one that you call brother?
And do you ponder why you seldom talk to mother?
It wasn’t always this way; I can recall there was a time...
We were all together and we were doing fine.
We all have our problems; please don’t get me wrong...
But I can remember a time when life was still a song.
So much has happened to tear us into pieces...
Broken hearts never mended and hatred still increases...
Once I became an adult and reality banged on my door,
I realized that this was not a family anymore...
It is small and broken, some here and there...
Left to wonder who really cares.
It brings a storm of resentment from what has become...
The events of this torn home left me feeling numb.
Even though I now have a life that I cherish
I love my family and I would never let perish...
The foundation I’ve built from what I’ve learned...
The feeling of warmth that I desired
I once missed the ways I learned to live without...
No stronger than the flame which we blew out.
Now I’ve built a fire and it lights up the sky...
With a deep devotion that I will never let die
Your family is there, whether you want it or not...
It just depends on who you’ve got.
Blood doesn’t make us more loyal than a friend...
Nor does it establish who’s there in the end.
Let them go if they just never pulled through.
Sometimes you find, you’ll always have to.
I never took it straight to the heart...
Just thought of it as two worlds apart
So it stands today that I feel whole...
Regardless of the past that lives within my soul.
-Khuzaima Jillani
(A-1)
The Journey
So I was listening to music
As I was going to Munich
With my friends in the back
And our luggage on the roof rack
As I was going at a steady speed
I got hit on the head by a bead
I scratched the place where I got an itch
Moving my tongue in alveolar ridge
There was a bridge up ahead
Should I have eaten bread?
I got stirred up and lost control
Slowing it down safely was my goal
I heard my friends scream and shout
They should have indeed eaten a trout
I stopped at the side of the road
I think I just killed an agua toad
So I got out of my car
Everything looked good so far
My friends took a sigh of relief
I think we should change the commander in chief
Then my friend drove the car and I sat on the back seat
I was glad I didn’t die of the heat
I rested my head against the window
Oh! I should have brought a pillow
As I closed my sleepy eyes
My numb brain thought of salty French fries
I tried to snuggle my head in my arms
As they reminded me of creepy harms
-Faizan Javed
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