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CONTAINING THE PRICE SPIKE OF RAMAZAN – Newspaper

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Every Ramazan, like clockwork, the markets begin to change their rhythm. The footpaths thicken with shoppers, as fruit stalls glow brighter, stacked high with bananas, apples and other seasonal fruits. The vegetable sellers speak faster, not because they want to deceive you, but because there are simply too many customers and too little time.

This isn’t an anomaly, this is seasonality. The patterns repeat every year and disposable income keeps shrinking further.

Over the last six years, prices across the board have increased by more than 111 percent, while prices of a broad-based basket of food has increased by 116 percent. Effectively, prices have more than doubled in many cases and remain around that range. Despite the run-up, a price bump is also a regular occurrence. When you track food prices week-by-week and month-by-month, you see a recurring ‘Ramazan Premium’, a step-up in prices that arrives with remarkable regularity.

It does not hit every item equally. It concentrates in the foods people buy more of during the month: vegetables, fruits and proteins. It is sharpest where the supply chain is weakest: perishables that spoil quickly and items where market power is concentrated at a few chokepoints.

It is estimated that, over the last five cycles of Ramazan, the price of the most basic basket of food, as tracked by the Sensitive Price Index (SPI), has increased by an average of 27 percent every year. This is the spike that is in addition to overall inflation at play. Before the start of the holy month, as demand picks up, prices of food items start picking up, with perishable items leading the charge.

After death and taxes, the biggest certainty in Pakistan is the annual spike in the price of basic commodities, especially fruits, vegetables and proteins, during the holy month of Ramazan. The price hike not only constrains household consumption but also leads to negative long-term repercussions in terms of health and social inequality, since it affects the economically vulnerable the most. What is the real cause of this seasonal price inflation and can we muster anything other than moral outrage to control it?

Banana remains the most volatile fruit, with prices increasing on average by 30 percent during Ramazan, relative to adjacent months, but sometimes increasing by as much as 70 percent during the first two weeks of Ramazan. It is estimated that, on average, the price of perishable items — which includes fruits and vegetables — increases by an average of 41 percent during Ramazan, while non-perishables increase by 20 percent.

Average percentage price spike in each commodity in Ramazan from 2020-2025 | All diagrams by the writer

For many families, this is not a minor concern. Food is already the biggest monthly expense, making up almost 48 percent of the monthly budget of the poorest 40 percent of the country’s households (more than seven million households). A lazy assessment of the same would suggest that people consume a lot, but the reality is that they do not have sufficient incomes. Hence, whatever they have, most actually gets spent on food, leaving very little for other essentials, such as education, health or any other shocks.

When prices jump, there is no ‘extra’ money to absorb the shock. Something has to give. Milk becomes less frequent, meat disappears from the week (or even month), fruit turns into a luxury, and the household’s nutrition quietly deteriorates in the very month built around restraint, empathy and care.

But if a pattern can be observed, if there is seasonality, the same can also be managed through targeted policy interventions. This is not a feeling. It is a pattern, and it is avoidable. To understand why prices escalate so much, and what it will take to prevent it, we need to evaluate the problem through two lenses.

One is the consumer’s lens, wherein we look at what people actually pay at the retail level. The other is the supply chain lens, wherein we see what is happening in wholesale markets, where prices are discovered before they travel to your neighbourhood shop. When the two lenses are combined, the picture becomes clearer, and so do the solutions.

MEASURING THE PROBLEM

Economists hide behind complicated models. This problem doesn’t require that, but it requires careful measurement and honest interpretation. In the work behind this piece, two separate methodologies were used to track food inflation and its Ramazan pattern.

Pakistan’s SPI tracks weekly retail prices for essential items. It is like a pulse check of what households are paying, especially for frequently purchased and essential goods. To make the SPI more meaningful for Ramazan, it was disaggregated into an SPI Food Basket Index, built from a defined set of essential food items, such that the food basket reflects household consumption patterns more realistically than a simple average. The result is a single line that moves with food prices on a weekly basis, showing both the trend and the seasonal shocks.

Evaluating this food basket index from early 2020 to early 2026, one feature stands out during each Ramazan period: the index spikes above its normal path. Not once, but repeatedly and consistently. More importantly, the spike is not small. Depending on the year, escalation in prices during Ramazan has been in the range of 25-35 percent, above the ‘baseline’ level suggested by adjacent months. It persists even when overall inflation is rising or falling. It is not just inflation; it is inflation plus a seasonal surge with a very predictable timing.

This Fruits and Vegetables Price Index (FVPI) showcases the spike in the price of fruits and vegetables during Ramazan from 2020-2025

Consumption patterns during Ramazan are largely tilted towards fruits and vegetables. Before a tomato reaches your kitchen, it passes through wholesale markets, transporters, commission agents, storage decisions, wastage and often several layers of bargaining. Moreover, a tomato that reaches your kitchen can come from different parts of the country at different times of the year, hence the sheer volatility in the price of a tomato. Despite such predictable volatility emanating from supply chain weaknesses, any policy efforts to address the same have been half-hearted at best.

Moreover, there is a lot of seasonality in fruits and vegetables. Some fruits and vegetables are consistently available throughout the year, hence any representative index that tracks prices of fruits and vegetables must take that into consideration. To keep things simple, a Fruits and Vegetables Price Index (FVPI) was constructed, with equal weightage given to onions, potatoes, tomatoes, bananas and apples — a staple of every household, perishable to various degrees.

This second lens is crucial for two reasons, it tells us whether prices are rising because supply is tightening and wholesale prices are genuinely climbing, or whether retail prices are rising more than wholesale, suggesting margins, mark-ups and market power are playing a role. It also allows us to identify whether the problem is ‘everywhere’ or concentrated in specific markets.

Prices at both wholesale and retail level were evaluated to ascertain the spread between the two prices, resulting in computation of the retail-wholesale ‘wedge’, which is effectively the spread between what consumers eventually pay and what the wholesale markets imply. The ‘wedge’ story is what the Ramazan premium is largely all about.

Ramazan is not just expensive, it is systematically expensive. Across multiple years, two things appear consistently — firstly, prices rise faster during Ramazan than in the adjacent months. When you isolate Ramazan months and compare them with non-Ramazan months in each year, the ‘Ramzan premium’ shows up clearly. The retail food basket jumps. Then, after the month passes, prices often ease, though not always fully, towards the pre-Ramazan trend. This is the hallmark of a seasonal shock: a predictable, temporary distortion rather than a slow, structural drift.

Secondly, the biggest spikes are concentrated in perishables. Not all foods behave the same way. Vegetables and fruits tend to show the largest Ramazan impact. In category terms, the average increase during Ramazan has been highest in vegetables and fruits, well above staples and pulses, and often higher than proteins too. Onion prices, tomato prices and potato prices are often the most volatile. Eggs and chicken also show meaningful Ramazan movement. These are not luxuries. These are the building blocks of everyday meals.

But why these items specifically? Because perishables are where the market is most fragile. They cannot be stored for long without proper infrastructure, they are easily disrupted by transport delays, they are sensitive to weather and they are vulnerable to information games, such as rumours of shortage, expectations of price hikes, speculative holding and the strategic release of stock.

The retail-wholesale price wedge we discussed earlier, which often widens during Ramazan, and predictably so, is the most policy-relevant insight. If wholesale prices rise, retail prices rising is not surprising. But when retail prices rise more than wholesale prices, especially in a short predictable window, it signals that the supply chain is not just responding to costs — it is amplifying them.

When the wedge widens, consumers are not merely paying for higher farm-gate or wholesale prices. They are paying for inefficiency, bargaining power and, sometimes, opportunistic behaviour in the chain between wholesale and retail. That wedge is not always evidence of wrongdoing. It can reflect genuine costs, which may include higher wastage, longer queues, more trips, higher transport rates or temporary shortages in certain markets. But it is a red flag — it tells the state where to look and which links of the chain require reform.

In Ramazan, the gap between retail prices and wholesale prices widens

WHY PRICES SPIKE

The common response to a spike in prices is moral outrage, which largely revolves around the notion that people are greedy. That may be emotionally satisfying, but it is not a policy. Greed does not change year-to-year, yet the size of the spike does. The real explanation is structural: Ramazan creates a demand shock in a system that is already weak.

Ramazan changes household consumption patterns. Iftar and sehri create predictable changes in what is bought: fruits, vegetables, gram flour, lemons, dates, chicken, eggs and beverages. It is not just more demand, it is concentrated demand. If supply chains were elastic, if they could respond quickly, prices would rise modestly and then stabilise. But Pakistan’s perishable supply chains are not elastic. They are brittle.

A bag of wheat can sit for months. A tomato cannot. Pakistan’s cold chain is thin and non-existent for fruits and vegetables at scale. Storage is inadequate, electricity is expensive, while grading, sorting and packaging are rudimentary. Transport is often inefficient and costly, potentially belonging to the early part of the last century. A chunk of produce is lost to wastage before it reaches consumers. Due to this, as demand rises, wastage rises too, because volumes increase but handling capacity does not. In this context, as wastage rises, prices rise, even if total supply in the country is not dramatically lower.

In modern produce markets, prices are transparent. Buyers and sellers can see volumes, arrivals and rates across markets daily. In Pakistan, transparency is non-existent, or partial at best. When information is weak, ‘expectations’ become powerful. If buyers believe prices will rise tomorrow, they buy more today. If wholesalers believe shortages will emerge, they hold stock. If retailers see everyone raising prices, they do the same, often without real knowledge of upstream prices. Such opacity rewards actors who have better information and punishes households who buy at the end of the chain.

But why even is there opacity when we know exactly when prices will increase and specifically of which products? This is where policy failure reigns supreme. At a macro level, everyone knows there will be an escalation in prices during Ramazan, but the policy tools used are blunt at best and have not worked for many years. Ramazan packages that give a direct subsidy do not solve the supply chain problem, they just expand the wedge.

The average retail-wholesale ‘spread’ (what consumers eventually pay and what the wholesale markets imply) is clearly more amplified during Ramazan

The state needs to focus more on fixing supply chain inefficiencies and less on policy adventures that do not work, such as price controls, magistrate raids and fines. We need more supply chain reform and less theatrics. If the core issue is supply chain bottlenecks and lack of transparency, then raids treat symptoms. They do not treat the disease.

On a similar note, Pakistan routinely waits for shortages to become headlines before moving policy. By then, import decisions face lead times, logistical constraints and political noise. A predictable seasonal spike requires pre-emptive planning months in advance, not announcements in the last week before Ramazan.

The cost of inflation in Ramazan is not just financial, it is nutritional. When food becomes expensive, the rich adjust preferences while the poor adjust quantities. The quantity adjustment has been such that, over the last 10 years, there has been a decline in consumption of food across the board, with the highest loss coming among the most vulnerable segments.

A household that spends a large share of income on food has limited room to manoeuvre. When prices jump, they cut protein, fruit and dairy first, exactly the items children need most. They shift towards cheaper calories. This is how seasonal price spikes translate into long-term human costs — stunting, micronutrient deficiencies, poorer learning outcomes and a higher healthcare burden.

This is why the issue deserves to be treated as more than a monthly inconvenience. It is a public health and inequality problem, and it cannot be solved by throwing more money (or subsidies) at the problem, thereby exacerbating the same.

Those in Pakistan’s lowest income quintiles bear more of the Ramazan price increase burden

WHAT CAN BE DONE?

The goal is not to ‘control prices’ in the crude sense, but the goal ought to be to make markets work better. We need to evaluate the problem along three paradigms: what can be done immediately, what can be done in one season and what must be built over several years. A simple public dashboard can change buying behaviour, and compress the wedge that exists between retail and wholesale prices.

A widely disseminated dashboard that covers wholesale prices across major markets, retail prices in major cities, volumes/arrivals where available etc can shape demand preferences and reduce information asymmetry. When information becomes public, the space for manipulation narrows, panic-buying reduces and media narratives improve. More importantly, policy becomes data-driven.

A coherent demand and supply forecasting framework needs to be in place at some federal or provincial level to ascertain exactly how much concentrated demand actually emerges during Ramazan and what supply interventions are required to address the same. Understanding demand-supply patterns holds the key in unlocking this puzzle, as that allows planning to raise supply well in advance, rather than scampering right at the end and sending panic signals to the market. Even if such bodies exist, their output is non-existent and, thereby, their ability to mollify any price-driven panic is negligible.

The Ramazan Bachat Bazaar is a policy intervention that actually works and that can be expanded further, since it expands the distribution of the wholesale market, creating sub-wholesale markets. District administrations can play a pivotal role in expanding the scale and scope of the same, considering the concentrated nature of demand during the month. Such an intervention delivers outsized social returns, relative to the theatre of price controls and magisterial raids shot for a TikTok audience.

Easier said than done, but solving the problem requires genuine on-ground reforms in the mid-to-long-term. The heart of the problem is often the wholesale yard, or the mandi, which is congested, opaque, dominated by intermediaries and resistant to reform. A practical reform package should include digital price reporting at a district, provincial and then national level, and auction platforms where feasible, as well as standardised grading/packaging rules to reduce disputes.

Even small improvements here can reduce the retail-wholesale wedge. But who is going to bell the cat, or skin the fruit, remains the question.

There is a lot of noise and conversation around storage, but the conversation largely focuses on wheat. It is important to incentivise the development of strategic cold storage in a targeted manner, particularly in high-consumption corridors, for items with high wastage and for market nodes that serve multiple districts. The same can be rolled out through public-private models and would deliver substantial returns on any public investment, relative to blunt force instruments such as direct subsidies or loss in public welfare due to high prices.

There is a moral dimension to this issue that goes beyond economics. Ramazan is meant to cultivate empathy, to feel what hunger feels like, to understand vulnerability and to soften the heart, if its true spirit is to be adhered to. When food becomes systematically costlier in this month, the burden shifts precisely on to those least able to carry it. It turns a spiritual month into a financial trial.

THE NEED FOR RAMAZAN REFORMS

The data tells us clearly that the price surge is measurable and not mysterious. It repeats often and in such a predictable manner that planning can beat panic. A large part of the spike is tied to systems, information asymmetry, logistics and market structure — things that policy can improve.

We do not need miracles or subsidies. We need discipline. A country that can run complex national operations, elections, vaccination drives and large-scale security deployments can certainly organise a seasonal food supply plan. The month arrives on the calendar every year. Its demand patterns are known, while the pressure points are predictable, down to the district level.

The most powerful reform would be to treat Ramazan price stability not as a media scandal to manage but as an operational goal to deliver. If we can deliver on that, the benefits are immediate and widespread, which would reduce food expenditure for vulnerable families, enhance nutrition for children, reduce anxiety in households already stretched thin, while creating a market system that feels fairer.

That is not just good economics, it is good governance. If we truly want to honour the spirit of the month, we should start by making sure that worship does not come with a predictable price penalty while buying something as mundane as a banana.

The writer is a macroeconomist and professor of practice at IBA, Karachi. He can be reached at ammar.habib@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, March 1st, 2026



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EXHIBITION: SUBVERTING THE GAZE – Newspaper

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All the Women in Me X

Farazeh Syed’s exhibition ‘All the Women in Me’ at Karachi’s Canvas Gallery prosecutes the colonial archive: its camera, its titles, its voracious gaze, while nurturing — patiently and insistently — the lives of women crushed by that record.

The exhibition brings together paintings on canvas and wasli that rework found colonial photographs of South Asian women, set in conversation with intimate personal images drawn from the artist’s familial past. Syed uses photographs of her legendary grandmother, the singer Malika Pukhraj, who spent her later years in Lahore. Syed spent several formative years closely attached to her and says that the photographs “represent a South Asian woman from the same era who was fierce and formidable in her strength and vulnerable and fallible in her humanness. They, thus, serve as a contrast to the denial of individuality, autonomy and agency in the colonial images.”

Syed reads violence in these images — violence through detached reflection, through distortion and erasure, through a gaze that spoke for women while denying them voice. In her paintings, that violence is neither sensationalised nor aestheticised — it is held in tension with a repaired register.

The works on wasli are the most evident attempt to undo this damage. By reimagining it through a South Asian female gaze, Syed loosens the archival grip that once fixed these women in place. Faces gain expression rather than vacancy and bodies shed their performative submission. The women are no longer captives to a controlling eye but conversers within a visual language that recognises them as individuals.

Farazeh Syed’s recent exhibition takes visual documentation of South Asian women by British colonialists and upends their ways of looking

Syed’s long engagement with the female body — shaped by years of rigorous training under the artist Iqbal Hussain who passed away recently, and informed by her immersion in music — rolls here with quiet confidence. The bodies in ‘All the Women in Me’ are not arranged to please. They occupy space with weight and purpose. Even when seated or motionless, they seem internally active, absorbed in private thought or reminiscence. The women are not there to be seen, they are there to be.

Colour and rhythm do much of the work. Flora and fauna appear as carriers of memory. These elements recall the orchards and animals of her grandmother’s Lahore home, and they also function symbolically, suggesting growth, interdependence and the non-human witnesses to women’s lives that archives ignore. While this exhibition is unmistakably political, the paintings do not lecture. The exhibition trusts viewers to feel their way into its arguments, to recognise the unease of the colonial image and the relief of its undoing.

All the Women in Me V

Syed’s interdisciplinary practice, her scholarship, her teaching, her deep relationship to music, all quietly underwrite the exhibition. One feels the discipline of years spent drawing the human form, the patience of research and the lyricism borrowed from raga and rhythm. I imagine that the “me” of the title is not autobiographical but instead expands outwards, encompassing mothers and daughters, known women and unnamed ones, those photographed and those who escaped the lens.

In a wasli painting derived from a colonial ethnographic photograph of a seated woman, the artist pares the scene down to its essentials. The Victorian paraphernalia that once framed the subject, such as long curtains, furniture, architectural prompts, has been stripped away. What remains is the woman, rendered with a gravity that counterattacks submission. Her eyes no longer slip past the viewer in rehearsed vacancy and instead hold a quiet, inward resolve.

The canvases based on photographs of Syed’s grandmother operate as a different chronicle altogether. Her figure fills the frames with unrepentant presence. The brushwork is emphatic but not forceful. Here, distinctiveness emphasises itself through various specifics: the tilt of the head, the compactness of the torso, the unapologetic weight of age and experience. This is not a metaphorical woman but a person whose authority derives from having lived.

Across the exhibition, moments like these accrue importance. The women are no longer frozen in time and are instead allowed to exist within it. In doing so, Syed offers more than a critique of the archive. She models an alternative archival practice that is grounded in empathy, composition and the determination that women’s bodies are not sites of display, but storehouses of lived knowledge.

‘All the Women in Me’ was on display at Canvas Gallery, Karachi from January 20-29, 2026

Rumana Husain is a writer, artist and educator. She is the author of two coffee-table books on Karachi, and has authored and illustrated 90 children’s books

Published in Dawn, EOS, March 1st, 2026



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PROFILE: THE RESTLESS ENTREPRENEUR

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Umair Masoom with Sumair Rizvi (to Umair's right) and the myco team at the inauguration of their new office premises in Karachi in January 2026
Umair Masoom with Sumair Rizvi (to Umair’s right) and the myco team at the inauguration of their new office premises in Karachi in January 2026

One thing is certain: Umair Masoom knows how to spot a trend early. He is also not averse to risk; some would say he courts it.

The instinct seems rooted in a curious restlessness that his outward calm does not betray. The same restlessness carried him through 12 jobs in as many years; it also secured him $3 million in seed funding within two weeks of his pitch.

That idea, now myco, is a Web3 streaming platform where users can co-own content. By 2024, the company was valued at $80 million, following a $10 million Series A round. It has also secured multi-million dollar deals for territorial streaming rights to ICC events and the English Premier League in Pakistan.

Twelve jobs, one failed start-up and a move to Dubai later, Umair Masoom is betting Pakistan’s streaming future on myco — and on his own inability to sit still

LEARNING THE HUSTLE

Born and raised in the measured quiet of Islamabad, Masoom moved with his family to frenetic Karachi in 2003. After missing the admission deadline for his first-choice university, he enrolled at the College of Business Management (CBM, now the Institute of Business Management). He scored a 4.0 GPA in his first semester and remained a high achiever throughout his four-year degree. He was also on the college football team.

In his fourth semester, Umair joined an automotive industry magazine, visiting showrooms and even mechanic workshops to secure advertisements. By graduation in 2007, he had spent 18 months at the ARY Group. “Juggling classes with work while managing grades was very tough,” he recalls. “But at the end of it, I was interviewing people, including my batchmates, as they applied for jobs.”

This practical experience, says Umair, not only gave him an edge over his peers but also taught him the art of the hustle.

NO STRAIGHT LINES

Masoom completed his MBA over weekends while working for marketing and sales at major TV channels. “But there was no digital media at that time, only broadcast, so it became boring,” he tells Eos.

He spent stints in banking and broadcasting across nearly a decade, moving between institutions including Faysal Bank, PTV, and Burj Bank. “It wasn’t the traditional career trajectory,” Masoom acknowledges, possible only because his former employers were keen to regain his services.

In 2017, he launched his first start-up idea, Cricket Junooni, ahead of the Pakistan Super League. It included fan packages to travel with teams and dine and interact with players. It went belly up within eight months. “I learned a lot from the failure. I realised it’s not just about a great idea,” he says. “There were mistakes — financial ones, structural issues and errors in hiring the team…”

EVERYTHING IN PLACE

At the end of 2019, he received a call from his former boss at Burj Bank, Ahmed Khizar Khan, who was now with the Gargash Group — a major conglomerate in the United Arab Emirates. The head of that group had also served on the board of Burj Bank and was acquainted with Masoom.

Khan offered Masoom a marketing role at Daman Services, the group’s financial services arm. This was a pivotal moment, reveals Umair, as he was professionally successful and well-known in the local broadcasting industry, with key relationships in place.

Masoom’s two siblings were already in the UAE. His mother wanted her three children to be in the same city, especially after the passing of Masoom’s father — venerated broadcast journalist Masoom Usmani — in 2017.

His move to Dubai was followed by the coronavirus, but he remained a stellar performer and was soon elevated to the position of chief marketing officer for the entire group. “I was making great money, driving the best car, and everything seemed ideal, but then the restlessness reared its head,” he says.

Umair Masoom at the office of crowdfunding platform Republic in New York City in June 2024 | myco
Umair Masoom at the office of crowdfunding platform Republic in New York City in June 2024 | myco

ALL IN

During this time, Masoom kept a keen eye on the evolution of media platforms, particularly over-the-top (OTT) platforms in India and Turkey. “I saw a huge opportunity to build a large-scale video streaming platform, which I know will be the cable-cord cutter,” he says. “TV consumption is shifting from cable to OTT,” he adds.

Masoom started discussing the idea with colleagues and friends, including Sumair Rizvi — his college friend and a leader in the local advertising industry. They focused on the intersection of technology, media and e-commerce, and also launched a token for content creators.

The initial success convinced Masoom to go all in. In December 2023, he shared his plans with his employers. To his surprise, they decided to back him. But the investment also brought with it the pressure of delivering results, says Masoom. “We had to repay their trust.”

It resulted in extreme highs and major lows, including days when deals fell through or investors backtracked. “For instance, weeks after cracking the biggest deal of your career, you find out you don’t even have enough money for salaries,” says Umair.

Meanwhile, with tokenisation still awaiting regulatory approval in the UAE — Masoom expects it to happen over the next two to five years — myco had to pivot. Currently, myco is focusing on the freemium model, blending SVOD (subscription video on demand) and AVOD (ad-supported video on demand); some content is free with ads, while premium content is ad-free behind a paywall.

Umair believes that such a service will be Pakistan’s next unicorn and myco could lead the way. “But it will be an aggregation and consolidation of multiple entities, believing in the vision of having a billion-dollar plus video streaming entity,” he says. “That’s the Pakistani vision.”

At the same time, myco is building audiences in the MENA region, having offices in Egypt and UAE along with penetration across the globe. Their Pakistan team has grown to 120 people from a handful three years ago. In January, it moved the team to their new office in a state-of-the-art building.

BUILDING THE MOAT

When I met Masoom on Christmas day, he told me that myco had 40 million registered users and over 10 million active users monthly — a number set to rise during the ongoing ICC T20 World Cup, for which myco has exclusive Pakistan rights.

At the same time, it has mastered the art of creating synergy with their competitors, such as the Tamasha app, convincing them on collective bids for streaming rights, bringing down their individual costs and averting pricey bidding wars. Ad revenue is similarly divided, with the same ads running across platforms.

Some major challenges remain, adds Masoom, such as piracy, where local cable providers illegally show channels airing EPL matches or ICC events. “We pay millions of dollars for a marquee asset, while cable operators land an illegal feed and distribute it, he says, adding that the regulator, Pemra, does support them from time to time. This explains why popular international sports channels go missing from local cable during high-profile events.

THE NEXT BET

Masoom’s days remain hectic — calls, investor updates for backers in Silicon Valley and New York, and projects spanning multiple countries — but he has made deliberate room for what he once neglected.

Mornings begin with his seven-month-old. An hour goes to the gym. He has elevated five team members to co-founder status and is actively stepping back from the micromanagement that defined his earlier years.

The restlessness, though, hasn’t gone anywhere. He is already an angel investor in a number of new start-ups, and a new e-commerce venture he is co-founder in, BuyPass, has secured its first funding. For someone who once cycled through 12 jobs before finding his footing, that probably isn’t surprising.

“Keep exploring,” he says. “The right idea reveals itself along the way.”

The writer is a member of staff.
X: @hydada83

Published in Dawn, EOS, March 1st, 2026



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AQUASPORTS: FROM ZERO TO HERO – Newspaper

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Freediver Akif Raj hunting a grouper underwater | Akif Raj

“We were a bunch of students picnicking at [Karachi’s coastal] Mubarak Village. We spent the entire day there trying to catch fish by lowering a string into the water from the rocks, but we caught nothing. By evening, we were not just empty-handed and hungry but sunburnt as well.” Deep sea freediver and spearfishing instructor Akif Raj laughs at the memory from 20 years ago. “What a waste of time and effort it was.”

Akif found himself watching a freediving video on YouTube one day. He says he had always felt a pull towards adventure sports. “I did not play cricket or football, neither did I ride bicycles as a kid. I did think about scuba diving but its equipment was too expensive. But the YouTube video got me thinking. I realised that one doesn’t need any equipment except for a spear, maybe. I built a spear from an aluminium rod for myself,” he says. 

“I knew swimming already and, after watching more freediving videos on Youtube, I started practising on my own. Honestly, it feels like you are floating in space with zero gravity when you are under water. That spear I had built came in handy after two years, when I managed to hunt my first fish, a 200g yellowfin bream.”

Akif waxes on about his first catch. “It wasn’t easy, as it required going very near the prey,” he says. “I was so proud of my accomplishment that I did not let anyone touch my catch after bringing it home, though my mother wanted to cook it. I kept it in the freezer, so I could take it out and admire it whenever I wanted. I did that often until, one day, when a cat ran off with my prized possession.” He laughs.   

Pakistan’s first deep sea freediver and spearfishing instructor learnt his trade from YouTube videos. But he’s now trained thousands of others and dreams of representing the country in international competitions

Looking to improve on his weaponry, Akif frequented the junk and scrap market in Karachi’s Shershah, where he was lucky to come across an underwater gun. “But it needed repairs. The stretchable rubber part in it, which created its slingshot effect, broke after only one use. I had to mend it somehow. I tried to replace the part using the air bladder inside a football and rubber sheets, but it was not working. Then, one day, while lending support to a friend whose uncle was on his deathbed in a hospital, I found exactly what I was looking for in the tubing of a blood pressure checking device. I wished the uncle well and left in a hurry to rush to the medical supply shops, where I asked for the tubing,” he says. 

The repairs to the gun helped Akif catch many fish underwater. But while he would bring all his catch home with him, Akif wouldn’t let anyone cook the fish. “They were too beautiful to eat,” he explains wistfully.

Meanwhile, his mother was getting very sick and tired of all the fish. “It came to this that, when I returned home, she would only let me inside if I were empty-handed. If I came with a catch, she would tell me to go back to where I found it,” he chuckles. 

Akif on a boat headed to a hunting expedition

“Her attitude forced me to sell my catches. The first time I sold a fish I had hunted, I sold it for nine thousand rupees. It was good money, 17 to 18 years ago,” he shares. It gave Akif encouragement to hunt more fish and sell them. Once, he didn’t come home for two days because he was hunting for fish. That is how he made Rs30,000 by selling those two days’ catch.

More money started coming in this way, enabling him to improve on his equipment. First, he ordered for himself a pair of swim fins from Lebanon. Later, he was approached by a brand, Triton, from Ukraine. They had heard about him and offered him sponsored equipment, which included better diving gear and hunting equipment. 

“I also started educating people about freediving through social media. It also got me more fame and more sponsors. I am a brand ambassador for seven companies now that produce high-quality gear for freediving and spearfishing, besides being their freediving product tester,” he tells me.  

A few years ago, Akif also thought of teaching others what he had taught himself. “I wish swimming was made compulsory in our schools,” he says. Starting by teaching his friends for free, he started taking on other students who paid him fees for the classes.

“Today, I have over 2,500 students,” he beams with pride. “I call my course, in which I teach my students to dive as deep as 30 to 40 feet, ‘Zero to Hero’.”

The biggest issue faced by Akif while teaching freediving is getting access to swimming pools. His course spans only four to five days, for which he rents out the pools. The clubs where he conducts his courses want his students to acquire membership, however.

He says there are big international freediving championships taking place in the world all the time, in which he would like to compete. The 2025 CMAS World Championship Freediving Depth took place in Greece, where the top diver hunted a 7kg grouper. “And here we are hunting 30 to 40kg groupers all the time, thanks to Pakistan’s rich marine life,” he says, adding that Pakistani waters have 38 of the world’s best table fish.  

Coming back to international freediving championships, he says that he has an invitation to participate in the next one but can’t because of our country’s lack of understanding about this sport.

“I emailed our sports minister to allow me to represent my country in international freediving competitions, but I was asked why I don’t dive with a ‘batli’. Yes, he called the diving oxygen cylinders ‘batli’! I tried explaining about freediving to him but he didn’t get it,” he says sadly.

He also informs me that neighbouring India has no freediver but he has trained so many here in Pakistan. Still, he admits, we have no female freediver till now. “That seat is vacant,” he smiles. 

In the meanwhile, Akif keeps himself busy in his own freediving adventures. He says that freediving also promotes sustainable and selective fishing. “Otherwise our fishing practices, where our fishermen often use illegal mesh, catch the smaller fish or eggs too, which is devastating for marine life,” he says. 

Akif shares an incident where he found a bottlenose dolphin calf tangled in such a net. “It was crying. I approached it with the intention of freeing it, and its mother came too. I swear, she looked like she was praying as she watched me cut away the net.

“It took me half an hour to release it but, in doing so, I gained the friendship of the dolphins. The mother, in particular, recognises my boat. Whenever I go out to sea, in the winter mostly, she comes. And she brings me her new babies, too, along with gifts. Once she brought me an empty cold drink bottle. At another time, she brought me a pink shopper,” he laughs.

The writer is a member of staff. X: @HasanShazia

Published in Dawn, EOS, March 1st, 2026



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