Author : Unzila Siddiqui

It has been a long time since we last spoke to the mirrors hanging on our living room walls. We stand before them daily, smoothing out the creases in our attire, applying fresh colors to mask the lines of age, and granting ourselves a reassuring smile before stepping out into the marketplace of the world. Yet, all of this remains merely a display of the exterior a carefully orchestrated performance for public consumption. We rarely pause to ask the glass a deeper question: what do the features of the human being hidden inside this vessel of clay actually look like? How bright is its true color, or has it been obscured by the heavy dust of compromise and expediency? The truth is, we have become so consumed by the act of presenting a curated face to the world that we have grown terrified of facing our own inner reflection.

The mirror of the soul is notoriously unforgiving. It pays no heed to rank, social stature, political clout, or the spotless elegance of one’s attire. It reflects a person precisely as they are in the eyes of the Divine, or during those absolute loneliest moments when the applause of the crowd dies down. The grand tragedy of our contemporary society lies in the profound chasm that has opened between our public personas and our private realities. We gather in assemblies to lecture on justice, our tongues spin refined pearls of culture and decency, and our pens write grand elegies to truth. But the moment we retreat into the private circle of solitude where no human eye can pierce our moral grandeur collapses like a house of cards.

A mystic once remarked, “If you wish to know the truth of your inner self, observe what you do when you believe no one in the world is watching.” This sentiment, despite its apparent simplicity, carries an ocean of quiet reproach. We live in an era where the benchmark for righteousness has dwindled to merely “not getting caught.” As long as our flaws remain veiled from public scrutiny, we are deemed honorable, intellectual, and credible. Yet, the moment the internal debris spills out, we realize that what we mistook for virtue was nothing more than the triumph of a well-maintained curtain. This duality has burdened our collective consciousness to such an extent that we now find ourselves yearning for genuine joy and true peace of mind.

If we closely observe the social landscape around us, a striking contradiction reveals itself at every turn. The very class entrusted with guarding the moral fabric of society often leaves us in deep despair when we glimpse their private corners. Individuals occupying positions of immense influence, tasked with shaping the destiny of the public, frequently possess inner worlds so constricted that there is only room left for ego, avarice, and self-interest. But is this grievance limited only to those in the corridors of power? It is not. This affliction has spread through our collective culture like an epidemic. Even at the grassroots level of our neighborhoods, we fall prey to this double standard. We are instantly ready to convene a court over the minor flaw of a neighbor, yet we dismiss our own gravest transgressions as a mere “necessity of the times.”

A major catalyst for this apathy is that we have stifled that faint, persistent voice of conscience which once checked our every misstep. Initially, when a person errs, the internal mirror clouds over, and a sharp pang of guilt is felt. However, when the act is repeatedly committed, the conscience becomes heavily rusted by rationalization, until wrongdoing no longer feels wrong at all. We have comforted ourselves by rebranding our falsehood as ‘discretion,’ our greed as ‘strategy,’ and our moral indifference as ‘maturity.’ It is precisely from this point of self-deception that the definitive decline of any civilization begins.

When we constantly live behind a mask, a subtle psychological toll is exacted upon our well-being. We begin to fear the truth, not because it is inherently dangerous, but because it threatens the delicate architecture of the falsehoods we have built around ourselves. We spend an exhausting amount of energy maintaining appearances, managing perceptions, and defending our public facades. In doing so, we lose the capacity for authentic human connection. Relationships become transactional, conversations lose their warmth, and empathy is replaced by cold calculation.

Reflecting with gentleness and empathy, one must ask: is this life truly meant to be squandered in such perpetual contradiction? Will we ever reach a point where we can look into our own eyes with absolute confidence and say, “Yes, I am the same within as I appear without”? The solitary escape from this crisis demands the quiet courage to practice self-reckoning. We must stop pointing fingers at others and instead begin the difficult work of wiping clean the internal glass that has become caked with the grime of hypocrisy.

No journey of transformation ever begins from the outside. Until the sun of truth rises within the realm of our own hearts, it is impossible for light to illuminate the world around us. Let us, today, discard the masks of convenience, peer deep into our own existence, and recognize the inner reflection that constitutes our true reality. There is still time to align our outer appearance with our inner truth—before the unsparing hand of mortality strips away our fragile disguises forever, leaving us standing bare before the court of history.

By Unzila Siddiqui

It is said that life itself was drawn from water, yet if one looks closely at the current stream of our existence, we appear to be drifting toward a desert where thirst will scorch not merely our throats, but our very future. In Pakistan, we have witnessed political rivalries, power struggles, and the turbulence of economic storms; however, a silent and terrifying battle knocking at our doorsteps is the “water war”. This is not a distant crisis awaiting us in some far-off century, but a stark reality standing directly on our threshold today.

In the modern world, it is no secret that future global conflicts will be fought not over petroleum or ideologies, but over single drops of water. Pakistan, once known as the land of five rivers, is rapidly climbing the list of the world’s most water-stressed nations. Comparing our present to our past brings deep anguish. Where we once possessed an abundance of water, our sheer negligence, poor planning, and the hydrological aggression of neighboring nations have brought us to a junction where every drop has become a vital asset.

A glance at our hydro-politics reveals that the Indus Waters Treaty—which maintained a delicate balance in Pak-India relations for decades—is now shadowed by growing uncertainty. India’s construction of controversial dams on western rivers and its attempts to divert river flows are not minor technical disputes; they represent calculated water aggression with the power to desolate Pakistan’s agriculture and economy. Our primary tragedy is that despite foreseeing this external threat, we have failed internally to build effective safeguards.

It remains a flaw in our national psyche that we rarely awaken until a crisis reaches a breaking point. Our water storage capacity is virtually non-existent. Every year during the monsoon season, billions of cubic feet of freshwater flow unused into the sea, only for us to yearn for single drops a few months later. Decades of political infighting over major dam construction have inflicted losses that coming generations are now forced to bear. The distribution of water among provinces has become a perpetual dispute, where short-term political scoring routinely overrides long-term vision.

Beyond state policies, our daily habits reflect a disturbing disregard. In major cities like Lahore, Karachi, and Islamabad, the groundwater table has plummeted by hundreds of feet, turning water scarcity into a daily nightmare. The carelessness with which we waste precious drinking water on washing vehicles and hosing down courtyards proves that we are marching blindly toward a parched future. Should this conduct persist, the day is not far when urban centers witness violent clashes over drinking water.

Agriculture, the backbone of our economy, bears the heaviest brunt of this crisis. We remain tied to outdated, flood-irrigation methods where a vast portion of water is squandered. While the modern world uses drip irrigation and sprinkler systems to maximize yield with minimal water, we rely on obsolete practices that flood entire fields. Farmers are distressed, lands are turning barren, and soil salinity continues to spread. If our agriculture remains starved of water, a national food security crisis of unimaginable proportions will follow.

In this precarious situation, time is short and the work ahead is immense. The hour for speeches, seminars, and policy papers on paper has passed; immediate action is required. The government must declare a national water emergency on a war footing. Constructing both small and large water reservoirs must be prioritized above political divides. Simultaneously, robust international diplomacy is essential to address water disputes with India and protect our lawful river rights.

Above all, public awareness must be cultivated. Conserving water ought to be embraced as both a national duty and a moral obligation. From school curricula to media broadcasts, the value of water must be taught so that the younger generation grasps the gravity of this threat.

This silent water war is not the concern of a single political party, government, or province; it is a matter of Pakistan’s survival. If we fail to address our thirst today, protect our rivers, and stop the waste, history will remember us as an unwise society that turned its own future into a mirage. Time is slipping away, and the falling currents of our rivers continue to warn us. May we awaken before it is too late.

By: Unzila Siddiqui

Column: reflection of mirror

Every year as the month of August dawns, the air fills with an inexplicable surge of enthusiasm and emotional fervor. Green and white crescent flags fluttering in the streets, small paper flags held tightly in children’s hands, and buildings glowing under night lights proclaim that a nation is celebrating the birthday of its homeland. August 14 is not merely a date on the calendar; it is a gentle reminder of our love for this sacred land and its existence—a solemn pledge whose foundations were laid by our forefathers through monumental sacrifices, boundless hope, and dreams of a brighter future.

Yet, amidst all this excitement and fervor, one occasionally encounters scenes that bring a quiet sorrow to the heart, compelling us to pause and reflect. Just yesterday, I was standing at a vibrant stall observing the bustling crowds preparing for Independence Day celebrations. People of all ages—young and old—were eagerly buying green and white clothes, badges, and national flags. My heart warmed at this expression of devotion, but in that very moment, my eyes fell upon the ground: a small piece of the sacred crescent flag lay discarded in the dust.

What struck me with profound disbelief and pain was that scores of people walked past it. Adults and children alike continued their shopping spree with unabated zeal, yet no one noticed the flag beneath their feet, nor did anyone bother to bend down and pick it up. We were enthusiastically buying the flag, yet we seemed to have forgotten the true reverence it demands. Perhaps we forget that the soul of this beloved homeland is anchored in the belief “La ilaha illallah” (There is no deity except Allah), and that our dignity, honor, and identity endure only under the protective shadow of this banner. Alas, this disheartening sight repeats itself right after August 14, when the very paper flags we lovingly hung up are left trampled along streets and alleys.

True love for the country is not expressed through loud slogans, blaring horns, or superficial decorations alone. Genuine patriotism demands dignity, earnestness, and deep-rooted respect. We polish our homes until they glisten, yet the very hands that wave the green flag high in the morning do not hesitate to throw empty juice cartons and litter onto our own streets by evening. If we revere this land as a sacred haven, preserving its cleanliness must be our foremost duty.

In these times, what we need above all else is national unity and solidarity. Until we break free from the confines of class, language, and caste divisions to stand united as a single nation, we cannot embark on the path of true progress. August 14 brings us the timeless message that our sole identity is “Pakistan,” and that unity is the ultimate force capable of elevating a nation to greatness.

This August 14, let us not restrict our independence to a routine annual ritual. Instead, let us transform it into a renewed resolve—a commitment defined by honor for our flag, care for our environment, and mutual respect for one another. The true beauty of the green and white banner will soar highest only when the actions and attitudes of the people living beneath it are equally pure and dignified.

تحریر : انزلہ صدیقی

​موسم بدلتے ہیں تو پرندے اپنی ہجرت کا سفر بدل لیتے ہیں، پتجھڑ کے بعد بہار کی آمد ایک طے شدہ فطری امر ہے، لیکن جب وقت بدلتا ہے تو تاریخ کا رخ بدل جاتا ہے۔ ہم اکثر اپنے اردگرد مٹی کے ڈھیروں، ویران عمارتوں اور ماضی کے آثار کو دیکھ کر سوچتے ہیں کہ زوال کی داستانیں کیسے لکھی جاتی ہیں۔ حقیقت یہ ہے کہ زوال کبھی اچانک اور یکدم نہیں آتا یہ اس وقت بہت آہستہ سے، دبے پاؤں دستک دیتا ہے جب کوئی معاشرہ گھڑی کی ٹک ٹک کو محض ایک آواز سمجھ کر نظر انداز کرنے لگتا ہے۔ تاریخ گواہ ہے کہ جب بھی کسی قوم نے لمحوں کی قیمت چکانے سے انکار کیا، وقت نے اسے اپنے صفحات سے مٹا کر کسی عبرت ناک کہانی کا حصہ بنا دیا۔

​ادب کی دنیا میں کہا جاتا ہے کہ وقت وہ دریا ہے جس کا پانی دوبارہ کبھی آپ کے پاؤں کو نہیں چھوتا۔ جو قطرہ ایک بار گزر گیا، وہ اب ایک قصہ ہے، ایک یاد ہے یا پھر ایک پچھتاوا۔ حیرت ہوتی ہے کہ ہم اس مٹھی سے پھسلتی ہوئی ریت کو روکنے کی الٹی سیدھی کوششیں تو کرتے ہیں، مگر اس کے درست استعمال کا ہنر سیکھنے سے کتراتے ہیں۔ دنیا کے نقشے پر اگر نظر دوڑائی جائے، تو جن خوابوں کی تعبیریں آج فلک بوس عمارتوں، معاشی استحکام اور جدید ایجادات کی صورت میں دکھائی دیتی ہیں، ان کے پیچھے کوئی جادوئی چراغ نہیں تھا، بلکہ وقت کی قدر کا وہ گہرا احساس تھا جو ان قوموں نے اپنے قومی منشور کا پہلا صفحہ بنا لیا تھا۔ انہوں نے یہ بات جان لی تھی کہ جو قوم سورج نکلنے کے بعد بیدار ہوتی ہے، وہ کبھی دنیا کی قیادت کا خواب نہیں دیکھ سکتی۔

​ہمارے سماجی رویوں میں ایک عجیب سا تضاد بن چکا ہے۔ ہم اچھے دنوں کا انتظار تو بہت بے صبری سے کرتے ہیں، مگر ان دنوں کو اچھا بنانے کے لیے درکار محنت، عزم اور وقت کی منظم سرمایہ کاری سے ہمیشہ پیچھا چھڑاتے ہیں۔ ہم گھنٹوں بے مقصد بحث و مباحثے، لاحاصل سوشل میڈیا کی دنیا اور لایعنی محفلوں میں گنوا دیتے ہیں، اور پھر شام کو چائے کی پیالی پر گلہ کرتے ہیں کہ حالات نہیں بدل رہے۔ ہم یہ بھول جاتے ہیں کہ حالات خود نہیں بدلتے، انہیں بدلنے کے لیے لمحوں کو پسینے سے سینچنا پڑتا ہے۔ تبدیلی کسی معجزے کا نام نہیں، یہ روزمرہ کے ان چند لمحوں کی حفاظت کا نام ہے جنہیں ہم اکثر “چلو کل کر لیں گے کہہ کر سرد خانے کی نذر کر دیتے ہیں۔ یہ کل دراصل وہ خوبصورت سراب ہے جو انسان کو کبھی منزل کے قریب پہنچنے نہیں دیتا، بلکہ ایک ہی دائرے میں گھماتا رہتا ہے۔

​اگر ہم گہرائی میں جا کر دیکھیں تو وقت کی بے قدری صرف ایک انفرادی مسئلہ نہیں ہے، بلکہ یہ ایک پورے معاشرتی ڈھانچے کا المیہ بن چکا ہے۔ ہمارے ہاں تقریبات کا دیر سے شروع ہونا، دفتری امور میں تاخیری حربے استعمال کرنا اور ملاقاتوں کے طے شدہ وقت کی پاسداری نہ کرنا اب ایک عام سی بات سمجھا جاتا ہے۔ ہم نے اسے “روایت” کا نام دے کر اپنی سستی کو چھپانے کا ایک مستقل بہانہ تراش لیا ہے۔ جب ایک عام شہری سے لے کر اعلیٰ ترین سطح تک وقت کی اس طرح پامالی کی جائے، تو وہاں ترقی کی رفتار خود بخود سست ہو جاتی ہے۔ دنیا کی ترقی یافتہ قوموں نے اپنی عدالتوں، اپنے اسکولوں اور اپنے کارخانوں میں سب سے پہلا نظم و ضبط وقت کا قائم کیا۔ وہاں ایک منٹ کی تاخیر کو ایک جرم کی طرح دیکھا جاتا ہے، کیونکہ وہ جانتے ہیں کہ ضائع شدہ منٹ کبھی لوٹ کر نہیں آتے۔

​چراغ تبھی روشن رہتا ہے جب اس میں باقاعدگی سے تیل ڈالا جائے اور اس کی لو کی حفاظت کی جائے۔ بالکل اسی طرح، کسی بھی سماج کی معاشی اور اخلاقی ترقی کا دارومدار اس بات پر ہے کہ اس کے افراد اپنے آج کو کتنی اہمیت دیتے ہیں۔ جب تک ہم وقت کی اس انمول دولت کو بے دردی سے لٹاتے رہیں گے اور اپنی ناکامیوں کا ملبہ دوسروں پر ڈالتے رہیں گے، تب تک ہم صرف دنیا کی کامیابیوں پر دور کھڑے ہو کر تالیاں بجانے کے قابل ہی رہ جائیں گے۔ تاریخ کا قلم بڑا بے رحم اور منصف ہوتا ہے؛ یہ ان کا نام سنہرے حروف میں لکھتا ہے جو وقت کی نبض پر ہاتھ رکھنا جانتے ہیں، جو صبح کی پہلی کرن کے ساتھ اپنے مقاصد کی تلاش میں نکل کھڑے ہوتے ہیں، اور یہ ان قوموں کو گمنامی کے اندھیروں میں دھکیل دیتا ہے جو صرف گھڑی کی سوئیاں دیکھ کر دن گزرنے کا انتظار کرتی ہیں۔

​ترقی کا راز بڑی بڑی تقریروں یا کاغذی منصوبوں میں نہیں، بلکہ اس خاموش عمل میں چھپا ہے جو روزانہ کی بنیاد پر ہر فرد اپنے دائرہ کار میں سرانجام دیتا ہے۔ جب ایک استاد وقت پر کلاس میں پہنچتا ہے، جب ایک مزدور اپنے کام کے گھنٹوں دیانتداری سے پورے کرتا ہے، اور جب ایک دکاندار اپنے وقت کو گاہکوں کے ساتھ سچائی کی بنیاد پر استعمال کرتا ہے، تو وہ قوم ترقی کی شاہراہ پر گامزن ہو جاتی ہے۔ ہمیں یہ سمجھنا ہوگا کہ کسی بڑے معجزے کی امید میں ہاتھ پر ہاتھ دھرے بیٹھے رہنا بذاتِ خود وقت کے ساتھ سب سے بڑا مذاق ہے۔

​آج سوچنے کی اصل بات یہ ہے کہ کیا ہم اب بھی اسی پرانی ڈگر پر چلتے رہیں گے یا اپنے انفرادی اور اجتماعی رویوں میں وہ ٹھہراؤ، سنجیدگی اور نظم و ضبط لائیں گے جو ایک باوقار قوم کا حقیقی شیوہ ہوتی ہے؟ کیا ہم وقت کی اس لہر کے ساتھ بہتے چلے جائیں گے یا اس کا رخ موڑنے کی جرات کریں گے؟ فیصلہ کسی اور کا نہیں، ہمارا اپنا ہے، کیونکہ وقت کی بساط پر مہرے بڑی تیزی سے پلٹ رہے ہیں اور گزرتے ہوئے لمحے کسی کے لیے بھی اپنی رفتار سست نہیں کرتے۔ اگر آج بھی ہم نے بیداری کا ثبوت نہ دیا، تو آنے والی نسلیں ہماری سستی کا خمیازہ بھگتیں گی اور تاریخ ہمیں کبھی معاف نہیں کرے گی۔

Written By :  Unzila Siddiqui

The sun is spitting fire, the streets are deserted, and even the birds are hiding. We used to say that changing seasons bring color to Pakistan. Now, they just bring dread. By the time June rolls around, it feels as if someone has opened the hatch of a blast furnace directly over our heads. You don’t need a thermometer to tell you this; the melting, shimmering asphalt on the roads of Lahore, Karachi, Sukkur, and Nawabshah is proof enough that we are standing on the edge of an annual disaster.

Every year, the headlines are splashed with terms like ‘heatwave’, ‘heatstroke’, and ‘heat exhaustion.’ But let’s be clear: these are not just medical jargon or dry statistics. They are the bloody, painful stories of human beings breathing their last in overcrowded emergency wards and filling up local mortuaries. It is a tragedy we witness every single year, weep over for a week, and promptly forget.

As a nation, we suffer from a strange blindness. Until the disaster knocks on our own front door, or until one of our own family members collapses, we treat it as “just another news story” and flip the page.

We complain bitterly when the mercury touches 45°C or 50°C, but we conveniently ignore our own guilt. In the name of progress and “modernization,” we have paved over our cities, turning them into concrete jungles. Where dense, shady trees once stood, we built housing societies and commercial plazas. We axed the trees, filled the canals with dirt, and now that the earth is baking, we sit in our air-conditioned rooms wondering why it’s so hot outside. This is nature’s whip, punishing us for our own greed. Climate change is no longer a textbook debate. It is standing on our doorstep, and it’s furious.

Every summer, doctors scream the same warnings into the void: learn the difference between heat exhaustion and heat stroke. It is quite literally a matter of life and death.

Heat exhaustion is your body’s final warning. When you work for hours in the blinding heat, losing water and salt through sweat, your head throbs, you get dizzy, and your body turns to lead. If you stop, move to the shade, and drink water or ORS, you survive. But if you keep pushing, you enter the kill zone: heat stroke. This is where your internal cooling system completely breaks down. You stop sweating. Your temperature shoots up past 104°F. Your brain short-circuits, and you collapse. At that point, you have minutes to live before your organs fail.

But as a columnist, I cannot look at this purely as a medical crisis. There is a dark, ugly class divide hidden behind this heatwave.

The sun is supposed to be the ultimate equalizer—it shines on everyone. But the reality on the ground is brutally unequal. For those privileged enough to sit inside insulated homes or offices, this weather is just an annoyance, a reason to complain about the electricity bill. But for those who earn their bread under the open sky, it is a daily battle for survival.

For those privileged enough to sit inside insulated homes or offices, this weather is just an annoyance. But for those who earn their bread under the open sky, it is a daily battle for survival.

The easiest targets for this scorching afternoon are the daily wage laborers, swinging heavy iron tools by the roadside just to feed their kids tonight. It targets the delivery riders, weaving through traffic on roads that feel like ovens, just so someone can get a hot meal delivered to a cold room. The security guard standing at attention in a thick uniform, the pushcart vendor, the laborers baking at brick kilns—these are the front-line soldiers of this disaster, and they are always the first to die.

Meanwhile, our administration does what it always does: nothing, until the bodies start piling up. Only when the hospitals are overflowing do the authorities scramble to hold “emergency meetings”—which are always too little, too late. To make matters worse, unannounced load-shedding becomes even more brutal in the peak of summer, and the lack of clean drinking water in poor neighborhoods remains a permanent curse.

But can the rest of us wash our hands of this? Do we have no moral backbone left? We spend thousands on superficial luxuries every day. Can we not put out a simple clay pot (matka) of cold water outside our gates for passersby and birds? Can we not tell our security guards, maids, and drivers to sit down and rest between noon and 4:00 PM? Humanity demands that we lighten their load, but our collective apathy has become far deadlier than the sun.

We need to stop treating this as a passing season. This heat is our permanent reality, and we have to fight it.

Our municipal corporate bodies need to stop issuing meaningless press releases and actually set up functional, fully equipped heatstroke centers in every hospital, stocked with ice, water, and emergency meds.

More than that, we have to look out for each other. Handing a glass of cold water to a sweating laborer or offering a patch of shade to someone who has none isn’t just charity—right now, it is the highest form of worship.

Until we realize that shade and clean water are fundamental human rights, and not luxuries reserved for the rich, these heatwaves will keep filling our graveyards. It is time to tear down the concrete and bring back the green. If we don’t act now to save our land and our poorest citizens, nature’s revenge next year will be even worse—and we won’t even have the time left to regret it.