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THE ICON REVIEW: STORY VERSUS SPECTACLE

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I wonder why we don’t have Eids like this year’s anymore.

The rush at ticket windows, shows packed till early morning, big box-office numbers — almost all of them real, to an extent — the dismissiveness of ride-hailing services as their drivers leave you stranded in the cinema lobby for hours before one of them takes pity on you… It is, suddenly, a great time for movies — at least for the next week or so!

While three Eid movies were set to debut this Eidul Fitr, one of them — Delhi Gate — bowed out in Sindh. The DCP [Digital Cinema Package], I am told, had a technical error but, as I personally witnessed, a lack of ticket sales and audience interest also played a part (I was the only one with a reservation for the one show at Karachi’s Nueplex Askari).

Delhi Gate, its director confirmed to Icon, will return to cinemas — as soon as Bullah and Aag Lagay Basti Mein’s audiences thin out. The reviews below tell you how good each film is.

Aag Lagay Basti Mein

Recently, at the end of a long discussion, an actor friend asked me the most basic of questions — one everyone knows, but only filmmakers persistently (and cynically) ask film critics: what, pray tell, is a good movie?

One could answer this in a few dozen ways (I’ve done it enough times that my eyes roll reflexively), but since this is show business, it’s better to lead with an example: Aag Lagay Basti Mein (ALBM) — it is, perhaps, as fine a specimen of a good motion picture as you’ll get.

Icon checks out the two Pakistani Eidul Fitr film releases — the Fahad Mustafa and Mahira Khan-starrer Aag Lagay Basti Mein and the Shaan Shahid-starrer Bullah — which present contrasting approaches to filmmaking. One shows attention to good storytelling. The other chooses spectacle and relies on star power

Irrespective of box-office numbers, ALBM is a smash, as we predicted in Icon a few weeks ago (Betting on Eid Again, published last month). It is a winner, not because of its expansive advertising campaign on distributor ARY Film’s sister television networks but because the filmmaker is smart enough to identify and neutralise the tripwires of narrative filmmaking.

That filmmaker is Bilal Atif Khan, one of the most promising newcomers in the recent Pakistani cinema landscape.

Bilal, who has directed and co-written the film with Naeem Ali, addresses the biggest gripes I have with our movies: forgetting the big picture, injustice to the premise, the inability to foresee structural and production pitfalls, and the absence of intelligently laid-out conflicts and resolutions.

ALBM is full of big and small conflicts — not the makeshift kind, but the character- and emotion-driven kind.

Barkat (at first played by Aashir Wajahat, then Fahad Mustafa) is a meek pacifist with a big heart, born into the wrong family: a bloodline of Sindhi dacoits. When things get tough in interior Sindh, the family migrates to Karachi and immediately learns that the city is a far bigger mugger than they ever were. While his dad (Shabbir Jan) and brother adjust — the latter snatches mobiles and purses — Barkat ends up in jail.

 Tabish Hashmi in Aag Lagay Basti Mein
Tabish Hashmi in Aag Lagay Basti Mein

For Barkat, a life of crime — even one he is remotely connected to — gets a no-go from the heavens. This bedding, neatly tucked under the main narrative layer, pays off in spades later.

Before that, another key conflict enters the picture: the leading lady.

Almas (Mahira Khan) is a maid who loves to swipe left, right and centre — not on social media but anything that catches her eye: lipsticks, blushes, foundations and the odd Rs1,000 currency note.

Already divorced, she’s hardly interested when Barkat’s family comes calling with a rishta [marriage proposal]. However, her eyes pop open when she overhears that Barkat spent years in Dubai (he was in the slammer).

Almas had always dreamt of living in Dubai, so it’s an easy, romance-less ‘yes’ — until she learns the truth: the family simply wanted to be rid of Barkat. She and Barkat are sent packing right after the wedding, to a dingy, leaky, one-room house in a smelly corner of a railway colony.

They quickly learn to compromise. Barkat promises to save enough for their move to Dubai, gets a job, and the two place a savings jar titled ‘Doobai’ on their shelf. She, meanwhile, continues pilfering, without his knowledge. There’s a subtle hint here about relationships, about how, even in a marriage, things remain hidden.

ALBM bets the farm on building a unique relationship between Almas and Barkat; their romance takes a backseat to a more resilient bond of companionship and understanding.

Almas, like Barkat, has a kind heart — evident in a scene where she tries to make up with him after he takes money from their ‘Doobai’ jar to pay a neighbour’s child’s medical bills. This minor track, like most subplots in ALBM, leads to a quiet but harrowing moment of realisation that propels the film into the second half. By then, the emotional foundation — the similarities and differing worldviews — has been firmly laid by the director and co-writer.

Post-intermission, we get the kinetic turn. Barkat, realising life will never be fair, tells Almas they’re going to pull off one big robbery to set things right.

Enter — by a strange twist of fate — underworld don Marble Seth (Javed Sheikh), and his son Changezi (Tabish Hashmi), a petty young man wearing a ring with a poisonous sting.

You’re wrong if you think the story becomes predictable from here. Bilal and Naeem’s screenplay doesn’t lag. Nothing is superfluous. Every scene either builds character or plants tidbits they later cash in. Placing breadcrumbs with just enough emphasis that they register is a rarity in Pakistani cinema.

The screenplay gets perfect support from cinematographer Abid Rizvi’s wide-angle lens choices. Switching between 18 and 35mm cameras, these spherical lenses expand the frame just enough that the background and production design (credited to Team Big Bang) become as integral a character as Barkat and Almas. The wider field of view also makes the storytelling more immersive.

Unlike most Pakistani films, ALBM feels like a streamlined production whose screenplay was polished well before it went on set. That sheen reflects in the choreography of shots, leading to a lean, effective edit with nary a loose frame offsetting the narrative balance (the editors are Rasheed Khan, Salman Noorani and Bilal).

In the acting department, Tabish Hashmi is a pleasant surprise. His overweening bad guy gives him just enough leeway to become a villain worth remembering.

Javed Sheikh, too, is a surprise. During the film, I kept thinking back to a conversation I had with him, where I urged him to pursue roles that allow him to do something different (the topic of Meet the Supporting Cast, published in Icon two years ago). Marble Seth is that rare ‘different’ role — one he nails effortlessly.

Ayub Khosa and the supporting cast are just as good. Also — need one say it — Fahad Mustafa is a gem. Barkat, upon whose shoulders the narrative hangs, is a fragile, sensible, deeply conflicted human being, with a big, easily overwhelmed heart. He and Almas are as precise a representation of realistic human beings as commercial motion pictures allow.

Almas has a devilish side, but a line or two — and Mahira’s performance — reveal that her emotional barriers are rooted in hurt. This is Mahira’s most immersive and divergent role yet. Note the realistic, unflattering, mismatched make-up she wears and the slightly mangy hairdo; these small choices go a long way toward authenticating her character.

Like most women — and men — she pines for a better life that is forever out of the reach of the underprivileged. This makes their struggle more real, even when the film swivels into the fantastic — though never ludicrous — part of the story.

ALBM has only two minor shortfalls: the soundtrack is just okay, and there’s a negligible story hiccup at the very end involving Mahira and Ayub Khosa’s characters. Even so, the film easily slides into the list of the finest entertainers from Pakistani cinema.

It is a whip-smart, well-rounded film that shows you don’t need sultry item numbers or faux extravagance to tell a good story. A small, dingy house and two people will suffice if you have a clear head and the cinematic flair to make the mundane feel magical. You won’t find a better example of a good Pakistani film than this.

Bullah

 Shaan Shahid in the title role in Bullah
Shaan Shahid in the title role in Bullah

In Bullah, the new action film starring Shaan Shahid — where the superstar does all the heavy lifting — the viewer is at the mercy of a warped sense of time, space and a truckload of unanswered questions.

Before we get to those questions (that get no answers), here’s the plot: Bullah (Shaan), a man who rives his SUV across Punjab farmlands, has a saviour complex. He saves a Sikh woman (Maham Mirza) from India, who is fleeing a gang of rural hoodlum rapists, then saves an infiltrator who is running from another rapist villain’s gang. Yes, almost all villains here are rapists.

The rural gang falls under Faqeera (Naeema Butt), the extravagantly stylised, brutal lord-of-lords of an agrestic mafia that mostly hurts or rapes people — the film never explains why. The modern mob in the city — whose main madman, Sahoo (Adnan Butt), also lingers in the countryside — is run by Bakshi (Saleem Sheikh).

Bullah is a man of justice who, we learn quite late in a passing line, was trained by — and later became a trainer of — US military men. The film leaves it at that.

If there is one thing Bullah is clear about, it is its adherence to the superficiality of its premise and an utter disinterest in answering even the most basic questions about its characters and story. One can almost feel the filmmakers’ shrug each time a question arises in your mind.

For every question the viewer has, Bullah has two responses: “It just is” and “Suspend your disbelief.” Mostly, it is the latter. For instance, these are the answers to some of the questions that arise in the viewer’s mind — or so one assumes from the narrative:

Q: Who is Bullah, the affluent man who walks into frames rescuing people?

A: Duh. He’s a good guy.

Q: What makes him tick?

A: He’s just like this. Why do you want to know more?

Q: What makes the villains evil? Why are they rapists?

A: They just are.

Q: Why does the film need three parallel villain tracks (Faqeera, Bakshi, Sahoo) when they never converge naturally?

A: Suspend your disbelief.

Q: Who is Sophia (Sara Loren), and why was she necessary — especially when she is never integral to the narrative?

A: The film needs glamour, and the hero needs a romantic subplot. You ask too many questions!

 Sara Loren and Shaan Shahid in Bullah
Sara Loren and Shaan Shahid in Bullah

Writer Nasir Adeeb’s script — the screenplay is by director Shoaib Khan (Jackpot) — harks back to old Lollywood. Back then, a story made do with a simple premise and simplistic scene set-ups stitched together in the edit. The result felt rough, with too many narrative divergences — the story went here, there, everywhere before returning to the main idea at the climax. During this haphazardness, the passage of time often felt off.

In Bullah, this becomes a glaring oversight — particularly during the stretch where he meets, falls in love with and marries Sophia. One wonders: was that a dream or reality? And in either case, why is she such a passive, forsaken character, when her track naturally puts her dead centre in the plot?

The premise is still ideal for a Shaan Shahid actioner. It merges old Lollywood with new-age Hollywood, where the gandasa and lungi seamlessly give way to suits and martial arts gunplay. It’s a pity that Shaan doesn’t get to wear a lungi or wield a gandasa before donning a suit. His choice of clothes and artillery is defiantly modern, almost as if he’d do anything but step back into those roots.

The action by Azam Bhatti is mostly basic and fake. Punches land with hollow impact, bullets hit with lesser intensity, people fly and smash into things like a 2000s’ Bollywood flick. John Wick, this definitely ain’t.

It’s not all bad technically. Asrad Khan’s cinematography, though constricted to small sets and presumably quick light set-ups, is fine for the most part. The songs — especially Lajpalan’(Nik D. Gill and Miel) and Wekhi Kithay (Rehan Abbas) — are fantastic, though good music in a Shaan film is hardly a surprise.

The actors are professionals in every sense of the word. Adnan Butt and Saleem Sheikh growl, smirk and threaten as convincingly as their one-line characterisations allow. Naeema Butt is the standout, carving a major villain from a bland, superficially imagined character that meets a truly tragic end, screenwriting-wise (it is a bad cop-out).

Bullah would be a royal mess if Shaan weren’t holding the narrative and screen together with herculean might. Infusing emotion and conviction into Bullah, one sees him adjusting to the story’s pitfalls while adding small grounding touches on the fly.

Leaving make-up kits unpacked like Robert Redford (who was famous for his near non-use of make-up), Shaan could have used a touch-up or two in several scenes. The same can’t be said for Sara Loren, whose overdone “beauty” seems like a by-product of cosmetic surgery. While Shaan definitely looks older than usual, his performance is still top-notch (again, the same cannot be said for Loren).

However, one pattern needs addressing: after Waar, Yalghaar, O21, Zarrar and now Bullah, the covert-military man-saviour character has run dry. For Shaan, it is time to put it to rest, unless there is a genuinely unique story worth telling.

A better version of Bullah is buried within its janky exterior. Had editor Adeeb Khan and scriptwriter Nasir Adeeb asked themselves the basic questions mentioned above, found believable reasons for the story’s conflicts, and cut the superfluous tracks (Bakshi, Sahoo and the Sikh girl’s tracks are expendable), Bullah’s roar might have shaken the box office. Right now, it is a whimper.

At the end of the day, the choice between ALBM and Bullah is the choice between story and (something resembling) spectacle. Both films are still running in theatres and, given the gloom and doom of real life, I would strongly suggest you head to the cinema — if only to watch ALBM.

Rated “U”, Aag Lagay Basti Mein is an ARY Films’ release. Bullah, rated “PG” for fake blood, violence and adult themes, is an HKC release

The writer is Icon’s primary film reviewer

Published in Dawn, ICON, March 29th, 2026



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NON-FICTION: LANGUAGES WITHOUT BORDERS

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Zubaan Aur Tehzeeb
By Safdar Rasheed
Sang-e-Meel Publications
ISBN: 978-969-35-3716-1
311pp.

Zubaan Aur Tehzeeb [Language and Civilisation] is a recent book by Dr Safdar Rasheed, an author and researcher on language and culture, which is based on a series of discussions that Dr Rasheed held during his post-doctoral stay at Heidelberg University in Germany.

Instead of relying only on documents and archives when writing the book, he also spoke to European and South Asian scholars, teachers and writers on language, culture and education. Urdu, Hindi and Sanskrit are Dr Rasheed’s main interests, but there are dialogues in the book on Bengali, Tamil and Nepali as well. Through these, he explores these languages’ history, shared roots, conflicts and their links with religion and the nation. He also looks at their present condition.

One strength of the book is Dr Rasheed’s method of writing. He does not dominate the discussions. He simply asks questions and lets the other person speak freely. This makes the book more open and diverse in tone.

The first dialogue with Dr Anand Mishra, who became associated with Heidelberg University’s Department of Cultural and Religious History in 2009, concerns Sanskrit. It challenges the common view that Sanskrit was the language of only Brahmins. We learn that it once served as a “cosmopolitan” language across South Asia, written in various scripts and used in many regions. The discussion offers an overview of Sanskrit’s evolution, from an oral to a written tradition and traces it to South Asia’s oldest intellectual history.

Through a series of dialogues with scholars, a recent Urdu book examines language, identity and culture across South Asia and Europe

As an elite language Sanskrit was used by educated and scholarly groups for intellectual, religious and literary purposes. At the same time, it functioned as a lingua franca among people across different religions. So Dr Mishra says, people from the north of India could communicate with South Indians through Sanskrit. He also notes that much of South Asia’s ancient literature, including philosophical and scientific texts, is preserved in Sanskrit, making it one of the richest classical traditions in the world. Dr Mishra further explains that many modern South Asian languages emerged from, or were deeply influenced by, Sanskrit. Therefore, he describes them as tributaries of a larger linguistic river that is Sanskrit.

Finally, the discussion connects language to identity, culture and learning in the present day. Dr Mishra stresses that studying multiple languages helps uncover shared histories and encourages cultural exchange rather than division. Therefore, languages should not be seen as enemies.

The Urdu-Hindi conflict is not a conflict and shouldn’t be a matter of concern. The actual concern, he warns, is the English language and Americanisation, which is being spread in the name of so-called “globalisation”.

The most important dialogue in the context of today’s South Asia is with Dr Pankaj Prashar, associate professor of Hindi at Aligarh Muslim University. Here, the focus is on Urdu and Hindi and Dr Prashar’s main aim is to highlight the shared past of these two languages. Instead of stressing their differences, he emphasises their similarities. According to him, insisting too much on difference only feeds conflicts related to identity, which we already see taking place on both sides of the border, especially in India.

Dr Prashar argues that many Pakistanis hold mistaken views about India, which, he says, can only be corrected by learning more about the country and engaging directly with its people. He challenges the common belief that Urdu is neglected in India. Instead, more work on the language is being done there than in Pakistan, both today and historically. Urdu, he points out, continues to be recognised as a state language in parts of India.

Dr Prashar recalls that the first Urdu printing press was set up before Partition by a Hindu publisher, Munshi Nawal Kishore. He also points to the long tradition of Hindu writers and poets who contributed to Urdu literature, including Firaq Gorakhpuri (Raghupati Sahay), Jagan Nath Azad, Kali Das Gupta Raza, Rajinder Singh Bedi and Krishan Chander.

He further highlights the widespread use of Urdu in Hindi cinema, particularly in film songs. The author also praises the contributions of Sanjiv Saraf who, through the Rekhta Foundation that he founded, is serving Urdu on an international level.

He says that the Urdu-Hindi conflict is not a conflict and shouldn’t be a matter of concern. The actual concern, he warns, is the English language and Americanisation, which is being spread in the name of so-called “globalisation”.

English, he argues, is slowly taking over not only Urdu and Hindi but almost all South Asian languages. It appears to unite people but, in reality, it is pushing local languages to the side. This, he says, is a new kind of linguistic colonialism. It does not come with soldiers or flags, but with jobs, education, status and power.

He also says that this is not only a South Asian problem. In Europe, too, English is becoming dominant. Where there was once curiosity about different cultures, there is now a rush towards English because it means global access, jobs and mobility.

The book also connects this language shift to modern life, in which language has largely become a tool, not a ‘home’. People choose the language that gives them the most advantage, not the one that carries their memories or their histories.

Although Sanskit, Urdu and Hindi remain the main focus of the book, other dialogues discuss Nepali, Bengali and Tamil in South Asia and how they are taught in Europe, while others focus on language education in Europe, postdoctoral research systems, and the experiences of migrants.

The book is not a heavy theoretical work. And this is what makes it an accessible read for those who are interested in South Asian languages and their relationship with Europe. For students, teachers and general readers alike, it offers a calm but serious look at where our languages are going and what we might lose if we stop caring about them.

The reviewer is a member of staff.

X: WaqasAliRanjha

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, March 29th, 2026



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FICTION: FRIENDS AND DOUBTS

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My Friend Maya
By Amber Zaffar Khan
Lightstone Publishers
ISBN: 978-969-716-311-3
239pp.

The title of the novel, My Friend Maya, seemed appealing, and the book seemed like an easy read, full of good times spent between two friends, laughter and mirth. But that wouldn’t make for a captivating story, and let the book pass as ordinary.

No wonder then, contrary to my first impression, the plot of My Friend Maya is, in fact, quite complex, as it explores themes such as narcissism, mental illness and substance abuse.

The author of the book, Amber Zaffar Khan, is an Abu Dhabi-based Pakistani art, culture and literature enthusiast and promoter, who began her literary career with a non-fiction essay, ‘Ordinary Lives’, in the anthology Home #itscomplicated. From Abu Dhabi, where she has been living for the last 23 years, she runs a successful book club with like-minded, literature-loving ladies that offers a collaborative space for sharing and discussing literary interests. My Friend Maya is her debut novel.

The story centres on the complex friendship between two friends who cross paths in their 20s, after they briefly interacted in college. They are opposite in nature — Maya is adventurous and feisty, with a rebellious approach to life, while Sehar is cool and practical and lives her life according to a strict moral and ethical code.

A debut novel tells the tale of a complex friendship between two young women while also exploring themes such as narcissism, mental illness and substance abuse

While most people in Sehar’s circle who meet Maya find something disturbing in her eyes, Sehar accepts this as just one of her characteristics. She even ignores people’s advice to be careful, despite acknowledging that “in her eyes there was an underlying fierceness and something unsettling about their gaze that discouraged prolonged eye contact, as if they invoked a subtle kind of terror.”

However, over time, their relationship is tested, and the close bond they initially formed evolves into a tumultuous one. Sehar, a steadfast loyalist, who is very kind towards Maya, realises that there is more to Maya than her charming exterior. As the story progresses and more and more facets of Maya’s personality and life are revealed, Sehar begins to question some of Maya’s actions. She is at a loss when it comes to understanding Maya’s behaviour and looks for excuses to justify her actions, though in her heart she is perplexed and not at ease.

With time, she begins to re-evaluate her place in this friendship; she struggles to cope with Maya’s erratic behaviour and constant demands for attention and time, and she continuously analyses the dynamics between them but finds it difficult to reach a clear answer. Later, she is left wondering: “Four years wasted on the belief that I was her unflinching anchor, supporting her through her darkest hours, blind to the fact that she was orchestrating a web of deceit to keep me tethered to her. How foolish I had been to think I was her saviour, her confidante, while she played the victim.”

Even when Sehar learns that her friend is suffering from a mental illness, she is at a loss to understand her behaviour. She realises that “Mental illness could alter perception and behaviour in inexplicable ways.” Yet, she has her doubts: “Was … mental illness… a genuine cause of her unstable behaviour, where the individual loses command over their thoughts and actions? Or were all the manipulations, lies and deceit also part of her personality, just compounded by her illness?”

This thought-provoking book explores the themes of psychological disorder, emotional manipulation and the human tendency for prejudice and domination, which often overlap and can profoundly damage interpersonal relations and the mental health of a person, often causing the victims to suffer from anxiety, depression and loss of self-worth.

It also addresses social taboos surrounding mental health, as well as the lack of awareness about — and understanding of — mental health problems, due to which it is difficult for people to detect if someone in the family or their circle of friends is suffering from a mental ailment. This sometimes results in the affected person’s condition deteriorating, and it is usually detected after too much water has flown under the bridge.

Furthermore, even if one realises there is a problem, seeking treatment can be difficult, due to the stigma attached to it. However, there is always hope for those who seek treatment, as when detected early and if the patient is surrounded by loving family and friends, the outcome can be positive.

Along with the relationship between the two friends, we read about issues in Sehar’s personal life — her family and her love life — which unfold as the story progresses and affect it at times. For instance, when her mother is hospitalised, Maya supports Sehar and stays overnight at her place so Sehar is not lonely. For this, Sehar feels deeply indebted to Maya for a long time, which may be another reason for her turning a blind eye or failing to see the reality of Maya’s mental state.

The reader gets a glimpse of Karachi of the mid-1980s and early 1990s through the eyes of young girls. For example, Sehar, while describing her college days in the mid-1980s, writes: “Those were simpler times; entertainment was simple and cost effective, and we were carefree youths indulging in innocent, innocuous frivolities”, such as playing badminton and throwball…; “other times just getting together and watching Top of the Pops on the VCR, or listening to music would make our day.” Readers who grew up during this time period are sure to feel nostalgic when reading such passages and will relate to them.

The book also touches on social norms now and then, the challenges faced by women of that era, the pressure to marry and the appropriate age for marriage — “Societal ethos of that era deemed that age [mid-20s] marriageable for girls” — and class consciousness. The friends, at one stage, openly discuss class differences and the characteristics that mark one as belonging to one class or another, and whether class differences affect one’s decisions, especially when choosing a life partner.

Though the book deals with some serious issues, it is a real page-turner, and the reader finds it difficult to put down, as the events in the girls’, especially Maya’s, lives keep the reader engrossed in the friends’ complex story that moves with twists and turns and keeps the reader guessing at what happens next.

The reviewer is a freelance journalist.

X: @naqviriz

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, March 29th, 2026



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NON-FICTION: A SOLDIER’S NATION

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An Incredible Journey of Pakistan: Evolution, Landmark Events and Their Impact
By Lt Gen (Retd) Talat Masood
Paramount Books (Pvt) Ltd
ISBN: 978-627-310419-5
256pp.

The introduction to An Incredible Journey of Pakistan: Evolution, Landmark Events and Their Impact, contains a blunt truth. Lt Gen (Retd) Talat Masood, the author, writes that, when he came to Pakistan from Hyderabad Deccan, he thought it would be a simple matter to build a new country and had not imagined “how many hurdles would be in our way.”

Furthermore, despite being a military man, he admits that a “skewed” civil-military balance has retarded the strengthening of civilian institutions and “distorted” the decision-making process.

Lt Gen Masood took part in the 1965 war and opines that it was not planned well by Pakistan. The people of India-occupied Kashmir did not revolt against Indian occupation as was expected then, though the Pakistan Army fought back well once the Indians crossed the international border. The author’s battalion was part of the 6th Armoured Division and was involved in one of the most crucial battles — Chawinda — where the enemy lost over 100 tanks.

The author offers two reasons for Pakistan’s superior performance during that battle: one, “the spirit and courage of junior officers and men”, and two, the superior quality of Pakistan’s US-supplied arms, as India, by contrast, used Soviet-made weapons.

Lt Gen (retd) Talat Masood’s memoirs are a military man’s recollections about his own idealism and professional journey as well as an honest assessment of the events and historic milestones that shaped Pakistan

The war was, however, a setback for President Gen Ayub Khan, according to the author, and he adds that the military leadership was “very West-Pakistan-centric”, and the air force was not taken into “full confidence” throughout the conflict. The book dwells at length on the disastrous consequences of the war and the effect of sanctions imposed after the war by the US and other Western countries. It also highlights the welcome outcome of these sanctions: Pakistan began developing its war industry with Chinese help.

A great admirer of China, Lt Gen Masood provides details of the Chinese contribution to the development of Pakistan’s defence industry. He focuses, in particular, on the Al Khalid tank which, according to him, was designed specifically to meet Pakistan’s needs and met ‘world-class’ standards in terms of “firepower, mobility, protection and survivability.”

The author says he felt proud that, with Chinese assistance, he initiated and completed several important defence products and set up manufacturing lines. China, he writes, “is clearly one country that has not only built Pakistan’s weapons and equipment but has been a major contributor in building Pakistan’s defence industrial capacity.”

He dwells at length on China’s Cultural Revolution and says that, in terms of infrastructure and human development, “they made more progress in the subsequent 30 years than they had done in the thousand years that preceded it” — an astonishing comment about a country, indeed, a civilisation — that gave mankind paper, printing, gunpowder and the compass.

However, few will disagree with the author when he gives credit to Deng Xiaoping, China’s leader after Mao Zedong, for his policy of “harnessing China’s energies with the introduction of capitalist practices.” Here, one cannot but recall Xiaoping’s famous retort when he was criticised for mixing capitalism with his reforms, which were undoubtedly giving results: “It doesn’t matter if a cat is black or white, as long as it catches mice.”

One point that Masood dwells on at length is the immense damage done to society by politicians who use the chaos and infighting in Afghanistan to whip up radical ideas among the youth. Millions — literally millions — of Afghan refugees had poured into Pakistan and it occurred to Gen Zia, among others, to don the robe of an anti-Soviet crusader to win Western applause.

Still, according to Masood, it was Mao who deserves the credit “for the unification of China by defeating the nationalist forces, establishing the People’s Republic and leading the most radical social revolution in human history.”

Today, according to the author, “China is a very different country. It is the world’s second-largest economy, an industrial powerhouse. It has global interests and aspirations. Chinese state-owned manufacturers have set their sights on high-value weapons systems and state-of-the-art arms technology.” He strikes a realistic tone when he says it would not be fair to expect China to offer weapons and equipment at concessional terms. “China is now in a different league, where it has to protect its national interests by retaining control of cutting-edge technologies.”

 A photograph from the 1980s of Lt Gen Talat Masood taking aim with the then Chief Minister of Punjab Nawaz Sharif at the Pakistan Ordinance Factories | Photo from the book
A photograph from the 1980s of Lt Gen Talat Masood taking aim with the then Chief Minister of Punjab Nawaz Sharif at the Pakistan Ordinance Factories | Photo from the book

Providence seemed to be behind the author’s appointment in 1977 as director of projects for the Pakistan Ordnance Factories when he was a colonel. This would later prove to be an asset during his subsequent relationship with the country’s defence industry, as China once again helped Pakistan.

One example of Pakistan-China defence cooperation is the FC-1 Xiaolong. It is a single-engine supersonic plane, developed jointly by the Pakistan Aeronautical Complex and the Chengdu Aircraft Corporation. It is known in Pakistan as the JF-17 Thunder.

While the chapter titled ‘Reclaiming Jinnah’s version’ does nothing but catch your attention, the latter chapters contain some of his most biting criticisms of the military leadership, especially of Gen Ziaul Haq’s policies that supported anti-Soviet fighters in Afghanistan. The US helped Zia in this enterprise “unabashedly” and “promoted radical Islam as a bastion against godless communism.”

One point that Masood dwells on at length is the immense damage done to society by politicians who use the chaos and infighting in Afghanistan to whip up radical ideas among the youth. Millions — literally millions — of Afghan refugees had poured into Pakistan and it occurred to Gen Zia, among others, to don the robe of an anti-Soviet crusader to win Western applause.

Similarly, madressahs [religious seminaries] come under harsh criticism from the author, who holds them responsible for radicalising religious education. Madressahs have traditionally played a commendable role in South Asian society but, under Gen Zia in the 1980s, the abuse of religious terminology for political purposes “gave a fillip” to the growth of jihadi organisations, according to the author.

That the author is remarkably intelligent is evident not only from his academic successes but from the recognition he received from military institutions at home and abroad. The chapter ‘Personal milestones and key events’ deserves to be read for the fragrance of his innocence. This fragrance would turn him into a passionate soldier for Pakistan — figuratively and literally. The man who shook him to the core had a charisma of his own, and was often referred to as having “razor sharp intelligence” and “armed to the teeth with the art of statesmanship” — Mohammad Ali Jinnah.

The author saw the Quaid-i-Azam when he visited Hyderabad, the homonymous capital of the state of Hyderabad and the biggest princely state of British India. The passage is appealing because it is written in the first person: “I am an impressionable adolescent, aware that India is on the brink of a new era and that India’s Muslims are looking for a homeland of their own. I begin to see Jinnah’s vision as a great change in India, full of promise for people like me who had mobilised from all over India to help create Pakistan, including the area now Bangladesh.”

On the whole, the book is characterised by objectivity, for the author has the courage to recognise not only his own shortcomings but of the institution he loves the most.

The reviewer is Dawn’s External Ombudsman and an author

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, March 29th, 2026



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