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CULTURE: A TASTE OF SWAT – Newspaper
Conversations about Pakistani food culture are often overshadowed by specific cuisine and dishes that you can count on one hand. But the food of our region tells far deeper stories than a short list of popular meals. It carries traces of ancient trade routes, spiritual traditions, ecological systems, and family histories and oral traditions passed down through generations.
Recently, a chef (Asad Monga), an artist (Areesha Khuwaja), an anthropologist (Iman Habib) and a photographer (Noorulain Ali) got together to embark on a residency in Swat Valley and produced a zine, titled ‘Wild Grains and Sacred Herbs’, which reflects how this team experienced the valley through food, history and memory.
SCARRED BY AND STEEPED IN HISTORY
Swat is an integral part of regional history, as it was part of the ancient Gandhara civilisation, also known as Udyana — Sanskrit for garden or orchard — which was considered sacred in Buddhism. It was a centre of Buddhist learning that attracted monks, scholars and travellers from across Asia.
But when you do a quick Google search for Swat, “Is it safe to travel to Swat, Pakistan?” comes up as the second question people ask about it. For years, the region has been overshadowed by media that represented it as rife with conflict and instability because it used to be a Taliban stronghold, particularly from 2007 to 2009. However, the reality on the ground for this residency team was a different experience, one filled with hospitality and a sense of community.
A chef, an artist, an anthropologist and a photographer travel to Swat Valley and return with a zine — and a case that Pakistani food culture runs far deeper than its most famous dishes…
One of the most powerful aspects of the residency was how food culture in Swat revealed layers of history that travels through timelines. “Systems of both food and healing function here as a living archive — linking timelines, eras, religions and people through cultivation, cooking and care,” says Areesha.
These stories about life in the valley are often generally missing from mainstream conversations about food in Pakistan. “When you’re there, you feel something about that place that goes beyond words,” explains Chef Asad. “You feel the atmosphere of the old sites and the people who have cared for them for generations.”
For anthropologist Iman Habib, even the most basic ingredients can tell stories about migration, trade and cultural exchange. In their research, the team encountered the spice “dambara”, a species of Sichuan pepper that grows in the region. Iman explains that it is believed to have been introduced centuries ago by Buddhist monks travelling from Tibet through the Gandharan civilisation. Its flavour closely resembles “timmur”, a spice used in Nepal, as well as the well-known Sichuan pepper used in Chinese cuisine.
TO THE MARKETPLACE
Through this residency, the team has challenged the idea that food traditions are static or isolated. Instead, they shed light on centuries of exchange, in which ingredients, agricultural practices and cooking techniques moved across mountains and borders before becoming a part of local cuisines that we now love.
Asad believes this deeper understanding of ingredients is essential to understanding food itself. “In Pakistan, we often say someone is a chef,” he says, “but before you can cook well, you need to understand your ingredients.”
That curiosity was part of what drew him to Swat. “My lens is slightly ethnographic. I want to see what grows there, what seasonality looks like and how people use what the land gives them,” explains Asad.
In the markets of Swat Valley, stalls fill with seasonal produce from nearby orchards and farms. Persimmons, peaches and wild herbs appear alongside sacks of locally grown grains. For the residency team, these everyday markets became a starting point for understanding how food in the valley is shaped not just by recipes, but by landscape and climate.
CHANCE DISCOVERIES
History also tells us stories in unexpected ways. For Iman, her favourite insight from her findings was how Swat was considered to have fallen on the “wine belt” of the Gandharan civilisation. Buddhist monks are said to have cultivated grapes in the valley and produced wine as part of devotional and spiritual practice.
“This totally expanded my perspective on Buddhism, otherwise believed to promote austerity and asceticism, as a devotional practice that may or may not have involved inebriation,” Iman explains.
Beyond these historical connections, the research also shows how closely food practices in Swat are tied to ecological patterns. Many ingredients depend on cycles of patience and observation that don’t just take place over seasons but over years.
For Areesha, this became clear during conversations with farmers and local residents. One farmer told the team he had waited seven years for his citrus trees to bloom. Ingredients such as chestnuts require careful processing, while honey harvesting follows seasonal patterns that communities have observed for generations. In this way, food production becomes a practice of long-term attention to the land.
For Areesha, the experience also became unexpectedly personal. Although she grew up in Karachi, her mother’s family originates from Swabi, not far from Swat. When she tasted the food during the residency, she felt a familiar feeling. “The food felt instantly familiar,” she recalls. “It tasted like my mother’s cooking.”
MEMORY AS REPOSITORY
Recipes and flavours move through generations, often preserved in kitchens rather than written archives. Much of this knowledge, Areesha notes, is kept within homes, where women pass down techniques through daily practice. The team included some written recipes in the zine of local meals that left an impact on them.
“Even when we visited Swat, what we saw was just a snapshot in time,” says Asad. “If you experience that place in another season, it will tell you a completely different story.”
Hospitality also plays an important role in this culinary landscape. In Pakhtun culture, the tradition of ‘melmastia’, the welcoming of guests, remains deeply rooted in daily life. For the residency team, shared meals became a way of building relationships with locals and learning about the region beyond formal interviews.
For Asad, the experience also reinforced how little is widely known about Pakistan’s regional food traditions.
“Biryani [rice with meat], karrahi [wok-made curry] and nihari [stew] are the front-line workers of our cuisine,” he says. “But beyond them, there are countless regional foods that most of us still know very little about.”
In some ways, the ‘Wild Grains and Sacred Herbs’ project shows this to us. Rather than presenting food traditions as static heritage, the project captures them as part of a living cultural system shaped by ecology, history and community.
“My favourite part was listening — to the communities, the land, the river and our local collaborators,” says Areesha. “Many of the narratives, recipes and healing practices we weaved together came from informal conversations with them,” she continues. “These exchanges deeply influenced the visual structure of the zine.”
By mixing together culinary knowledge, artistic practice and anthropological research with the archaeological context of Gandharan Swat, the zine reframes the valley not only as an important centre of the ancient Buddhist world, but also as a place of vibrant contemporary culture.
It shows that heritage does not live only in monuments or museums. It also exists in seasonal harvests, family kitchens and the knowledge quietly passed down through generations.
The writer is a freelance multimedia journalist with a decade of experience in newsrooms and the non-profit sector
Published in Dawn, EOS, March 19th, 2026
Pakistan Hockey has burst into the limelight, both on and off the field.
Although not much was right over the last 15 years, the recent events and their consequences were largely unforeseen. It started immediately after Pakistan’s participation in the second leg of the Pro League in Australia. The results weren’t unexpected. Against Germany and Australia, ranked third and fifth respectively, the then 14th-ranked Pakistan lost all four matches.
The issue of non-payment of players’ dailies had become the norm. But this time, as soon as the players returned to Pakistan, they complained of poor treatment. Captain Ammad Shakeel Butt blamed the team management and the Pakistan Hockey Federation (PHF), stating that there were no hotel bookings for them on their arrival in Australia. The players were roaming the streets for hours. Later, they were lodged in substandard accommodations, where the rooms had to be shared between four or five players.
“We had to prepare our own food, and clean rooms, utensils and toilets. In all previous tours, meals were arranged through official hotel bookings. This is the first time in history that we were told to manage our own food within the daily allowance,” the team captain said.
He simply declared that the players wouldn’t work with the team management: head coach Tahir Zaman, assistant coaches Usman Sheikh and Zeeshan Ashraf and video analyst Nadeem Lodhi. It set alarm bells ringing. Pakistan had to depart for Ismailia, Egypt, in less than a week for the all-important World Cup qualifiers.
Unable to feature in the FIH World Cup’s previous two editions, the Pakistan hockey team have finally qualified for the next one, to be played in Belgium and the Netherlands in August. It’s been a rocky road but it’s a first step…
Enough is enough
Finally, the powers that be, who should have acted much earlier, took decisive steps. On the directive of the prime minister — the ex-officio patron-in-chief of the PHF — the federation’s president Tariq Bugti and the secretary-general Rana Mujahid tendered their resignations. An adhoc setup, with the federal secretary of the Inter-Provincial Coordination (IPC) ministry, Mohyuddin Ahmad Wani, as its president, was announced. In a quintessential Tariq Bugti act, the outgoing president had slapped a two-year ban on Captain Ammad Butt, his last act in office. The adhoc president lifted the ban as his first act.
The entire team management was changed. The new coach, World Cup-winner Khawaja Junaid has had numerous coaching assignments with the national senior and junior teams, without achieving anything notable. His assistant, Azfar Yaqoob, is a newcomer. The experienced Sultan Ashraf took on the duties of video analyst.
In a wonderful gesture, Mohsin Naqvi, the president of the Pakistan Cricket Board (the only self-financed sports body in Pakistan), met the members of the hockey team. He lamented the mistreatment of the players during the Australian tour. The players received cheques of one million rupees each, which Naqvi had previously announced as a reward for their second position at the Nations Hockey Cup.
World Cup Qualifiers
The 2026 World Cup will feature 16 teams. Nine teams had already qualified: the two co-hosts, five continental champions, and the winners of the past two Pro Hockey League events. For the remaining seven berths, qualifiers were held at two venues.
The 16 teams were split into two eight-team tournaments in Ismailia, Egypt, and Santiago, Chile. The top three teams from each tournament, and the higher world-ranked team from the two that finished in fourth place in each event, were to qualify for the World Cup.
The Pakistan team arrived in Ismailia. The onus was on the players as their somewhat bold demand had been met. Few know that the FIH rankings of national teams change throughout: a team gains or loses ranking points in every international match.
In the opener, Pakistan (then ranked 14th) faced China (23rd). The Chinese have not been pushovers when facing the teams ranked outside the top 10, and they showed. It turned out to be a real humdinger of a game, with goals galore. With 10 minutes to go, Pakistan led 5-4. Then they had a real scare. Rana Waleed was shown the yellow card. Hence, Pakistan played five minutes of the last 10 with 10 players. The Green Shirts displayed resolute defence and denied China an equaliser.
Pakistan’s second match was against the only side in the pool ranked above them. Pakistan (14) came across Malaysia (12). When the third quarter ended, it was 3-3. Thrice, Malaysia took the lead. Thrice, Pakistan equalised. In the last quarter, Pakistan went ahead for the first time and didn’t look back, adding another to emerge victorious 5-3.
In the last pool match against the minnows Austria, Pakistan won 4-2 . The scoreline doesn’t truly reflect Pakistan’s domination. The all-important semi-final against Japan, ranked three places below, was another edge-of-the-seat contest. When the third quarter ended, Japan were 3-1 ahead. In another remarkable rescue act, Pakistan found the target no less than three times in a five-minute spree, to go 4-3 ahead. But the drama was prolonged. A penalty stroke was awarded to Japan with less than four minutes left. The goal custodian Ali Raza made a brilliant save with his outstretched right leg.
With World Cup qualification secured, Pakistan and England (ranked 4th) contested the final. The 4-1 scoreline in favour of the European powerhouse was no surprise. England’s overall superiority was never in doubt, but Pakistan weren’t outplayed. Two soft goals were conceded, one off a penalty corner. Pakistan couldn’t avail any of their four penalty corners, while England converted two of their three.
The squad was given a warm welcome on their return home. The prime minister announced a cash prize of Rs1.5 million for each player. Mohsin Naqvi, who is also the federal interior minister, promised jobs for the unemployed members of the team.
The players did a commendable job, considering all the chaos. They displayed remarkable fighting spirit throughout. That said, the achievement should not be blown out of proportion. Pakistan, the record four-time winners of the World Cup, failed to qualify for the World Cup in 2014 for the first time. The FIH increased the number of teams from 12 to 16 in 2018. Pakistan qualified and finished 12th.
For the 2023 World Cup, Pakistan had to finish among the top four at the 2022 Asia Cup. Needing just one point in the last pool match against Japan, Pakistan lost 2-3 in a truly bizarre fashion. Pakistan mistakenly fielded 12 players instead of 11, which led to a disallowed goal, and subsequently knocked them out of contention for the 2023 World Cup. Given the overall quality of the opposition in Ismailia, Pakistan’s qualification was expected, failure was not.
What next?
Before the World Cup in August, the third and fourth legs of the Pro League are to be held in Belgium and England, respectively, in June. Preparations must be done in full earnest. The two most vital aspects are goalkeeping and penalty corner conversion. The services of internationally acclaimed specialist coaches are required. Likewise, the head coach must be a foreigner with sound credentials. Test matches against some European countries not in the Pro League, such as Ireland and France, would also provide good experience.
In the first two legs of the Pro League, Pakistan lost all eight matches. The margin was minimal in two. In all the previous six editions of the Pro League, no team ended without gaining at least one point. Pakistan’s first target must be to avoid getting this dubious distinction. At the World Cup, no one expects the Green Shirts to be on or near the podium. With proper groundwork, the now 12th-ranked Pakistan could aim for seven to nine.
The World Cup qualification is a small step, and there is a long way to go.
The writer is a freelance sports journalist based in Lahore. X: @IjazChaudhry1 Email: ijaz62@hotmail.com
Published in Dawn, EOS, March 19th, 2026
Quaid-i-Azam Kaisa Pakistan Chahtay Thay?
By Prof Dr Hameed Raza Siddiqui
Qalam Foundation
ISBN: 978-9697-460663
136pp.
As Pakistan enters the 150th year of Quaid-i-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah’s birth, the urgency to clearly understand his political vision has never been greater.
Every constitutional crisis, every ideological confrontation and every national setback inevitably drag Pakistan back to the same unresolved question: what kind of country did its founder actually want? It is at times like this that it becomes a national necessity, not an academic indulgence or a ceremonial exercise, to revisit Jinnah’s ideas.
It is within this context that Prof Dr Hameed Raza Siddiqui’s book Quaid-i-Azam Kaisa Pakistan Chahtay Thay? [What Kind of Pakistan Did the Quaid-i-Azam Want?] assumes particular significance.
The work arrives not as another addition to the already crowded shelf of Jinnah’s biographies but as a corrective to decades of selective memory, political appropriation and historical distortion. Siddiqui does not present Jinnah as a marble statue to be admired from a distance. Instead, he portrays him as a thinking statesman — firm in principle, flexible in method and deeply concerned with constitutional order, democratic governance and moral responsibility.
Published by the Qalam Foundation, the book’s structure allows readers to engage with Jinnah thematically rather than being confined to a strictly chronological narrative. One of its greatest strengths is its insistence on primary sources. Siddiqui builds his argument through direct references to Jinnah’s speeches, interviews, letters and statements. Rather than filtering Jinnah through later ideological frameworks, he allows the Quaid to speak in his own words. This approach gives the book both authority and clarity, making it difficult to dismiss or reinterpret Jinnah’s positions according to contemporary political convenience.
A meticulously researched book offers a corrective to decades of selective memory, political appropriation and historical distortion about Quaid-i-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah’s vision for the country he founded
Furthermore, Quaid-i-Azam Kaisa Pakistan Chahtay Thay avoids anecdotal glorification and emotional storytelling that often dominate popular narratives. Instead, Siddiqui constructs a careful timeline, beginning with Jinnah’s early political engagements in London and moving through the major milestones of his career, culminating in the final months of his life. Every quotation, meeting and political intervention is supported by verifiable references. Nothing is left to hearsay, memory or folklore.
Siddiqui’s background as a seasoned academic is visible throughout the book. Having authored 10 books — many of them dealing with Pakistan’s ideological and intellectual foundations — he approaches Jinnah with the seriousness of a teacher who understands that future generations may rely on this work to grasp the very basis of their state. The writing is deliberately structured and reflects a conscious effort to educate rather than merely impress.
To answer the deceptively simple question at the heart of the book, Siddiqui divides Jinnah’s political thought into 20 interconnected themes, including governance, foreign policy, economic justice, constitutionalism, youth, political ethics and the philosophical rationale behind the demand for Pakistan. This thematic organisation allows readers to engage with Jinnah’s ideas without being overwhelmed by the density of historical detail.
One of the most revealing sections of the book revisits Jinnah’s formative years in London. Siddiqui recounts how the young law student boldly campaigned for Dadabhai Naoroji during the 1892 general elections for the Liberal Party in the Finsbury Central constituency in Britain, even when Prime Minister Lord Salisbury launched a racially charged smear campaign against the Indian candidate. Jinnah’s decision to stand with Naoroji, despite the prevailing racial prejudices of the time, reflected an early display of political courage and moral independence. It was a glimpse of the man who would later refuse to bend before the empire or majority pressure.
The book’s treatment of the Two-Nation Theory is particularly forceful. Siddiqui does not attempt to reinterpret Jinnah’s position through modern ideological lenses, nor does he soften its implications. Instead, he presents Jinnah’s own arguments, drawn from speeches delivered at critical moments.
Through these texts, Siddiqui demonstrates how Jinnah consistently maintained that Muslims and Hindus were not merely followers of different religions, but members of distinct social, cultural and political orders. Without a separate homeland, Jinnah believed, Muslims would remain a permanently disadvantaged minority, excluded from power and economic opportunity.
The book also addresses one of the most frequently cited criticisms against Jinnah: his declaration of Urdu as the national language. Siddiqui revisits Jinnah’s March 21, 1948 speech in Dhaka, placing it in its full historical context. He highlights Jinnah’s clear assurance that provincial languages were a matter of local choice and that Bengali would always remain the language of the province. According to Siddiqui, Jinnah’s insistence on Urdu was not an act of cultural exclusion but an attempt to create a unifying link language for a geographically divided nation.
Furthermore, with regard to the most contested question of all — whether Jinnah envisioned a secular or Islamic state or not — Siddiqui’s conclusion is unambiguous. Jinnah’s Pakistan was to be Islamic in spirit but democratic in terms of its structure. It was to be a welfare state inspired by Islamic principles of justice, equality and compassion, yet firmly opposed to clerical dominance or theocratic rule. Siddiqui reminds readers that Jinnah repeatedly rejected the idea of a theocracy and insisted on constitutional governance, minority rights and the rule of law.
Throughout the book, Siddiqui emphasises Jinnah’s intellectual kinship with Allama Iqbal. One of the most poignant moments comes from Jinnah’s 1940 Iqbal Day speech, where he declared that, if forced to choose between an empire and Iqbal, he would choose the poet-philosopher. The statement underscores how deeply rooted Pakistan’s ideological foundations were in thought and philosophy, not in political opportunism.
The book also gains contemporary relevance when read against current regional realities. In the backdrop of rising atrocities against minorities in India, many of Jinnah’s warnings now appear disturbingly prophetic. Arguments once dismissed as exaggerations or political tactics increasingly resemble sober assessments of the Subcontinent’s future. Jinnah’s fears have not faded with time; they have unfolded.
The final chapter widens the lens by compiling tributes to Jinnah from his contemporaries, including political opponents. Vijay Lakshmi Pandit’s famous remark serves as a fitting conclusion: “Even if the Muslim League had produced a hundred Gandhis, the Congress could never have produced another Jinnah.” Such acknowledgements underline the global stature and moral authority Jinnah commanded.
By the end of Siddiqui’s book, a sobering realisation emerges. The Pakistan Jinnah dreamed of — democratic, principled, tolerant and welfare-oriented — remains largely unrealised. Yet, the book succeeds in reigniting admiration for the Quaid, not as a symbol but as a guide.
In that sense, it is more than a biography or an academic study. It is an invitation — perhaps even a plea — to return to Pakistan’s original blueprint and to honestly measure how far the nation has drifted from the political ethos of its founder.
The reviewer writes on old films and music and loves reading books X: @suhaybalavi
Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, March 19th, 2026
Radio Pakistan was a haven for poets, writers, musicians, artists, broadcasters and journalists of the highest calibre. Some of the writers and artists were employed in different categories of production, presentation, technical services and administration. Others would congregate in the offices of those serving there or in the canteens of radio stations across the country.
Over the last many years, I have visited a few stations, besides being part of some recordings done in Hyderabad, Multan, Lahore and Islamabad. But my first and most memorable haunt was Radio Pakistan, Karachi, on M.A. Jinnah Road. Besides a few other broadcasting assignments from time to time, between 1984 and 1990, I also remained a part of the radio series titled Bazm-i-Talaba [Assembly of Students].
Many people used to get transferred from one radio station to another during their tenures. Some stayed in one place. In Radio Pakistan, Karachi, during the period mentioned above, it was always exciting to meet some of the finest writers and broadcasters. Sitting beside them and listening to them always enriched us, the students and young people.
Syed Zamir Ali, who was a poet, critic and a veteran broadcaster, was transferred from Quetta to Karachi during that period. He used to talk to his visitors about different literary theories, particularly modernism and post-modernism. One of his important works in Urdu is on that subject. Qamar Jameel was not only an avant garde poet but also a critic and a literary editor with equal interest in our and global literature. He had a penchant for French poetry. He was also my maternal grandfather Sufi Saghir Hasan’s student in a college where Hasan was the principal but also took a class, as was the tradition in those times.
Arif Waqar was my true teacher at the BBC. Besides teaching me how not to fluff up on the microphone and what should be the pitch of the voice, the stresses and the pauses, he also taught me how to construct a proper sentence in Urdu for radio audiences, which, in the case of BBC Urdu, were about 20 million at that time.
After a few months of my working under Jameel, he got to know about our family connection and he started inviting me home to see his books and borrow as many as I wished. He was always encouraging but a bit critical of my tilt towards progressive writers. He helped me understand that I should write what I wished to but go beyond social realism when it comes to the aesthetic requirements of creating art.
Razi Akhtar Shauq was another remarkable person who retired from the radio service during the same time. He was a poet of considerable merit, who penned ghazals in a classical style. One of his shers [couplets] became quite famous then: “Yeh badan amanat-i-harf tha jo talash-i-naan-i-javien mein hai/ Kisi aur ka tha yeh maal-o-zar, kahien aur hum ne luta diya” [This body belonged to the [world of] letters but got consumed in seeking simple bread/ It was someone else’s possession that I wasted somewhere else].
Along with the three gentlemen mentioned above, the two other producers I worked with who were committed to training youngsters on how to broadcast or present their writings on the microphone included Ismat Zehra and Hasnain Jaffery. Since most were creative writers and scholars, they were sensitive towards teaching us in a way that was not didactic, and none of the contributors to their programmes, young and old alike, ever felt undermined. Our producers were white-collared people with limited incomes. That did not stop them from buying us tea and snacks from their own pockets each time we visited their offices after finishing work in the studios.
A few years later, I was studying in London when journalist Abbas Nasir asked me to join the BBC Urdu service as a regular outside contributor. That was from late 1998 to the end of 1999. I did a few programmes in the later years as well but, during that first period, I had to work at least three times every week, mostly for Sairbeen but sometimes in other programmes as well.
Nasir was the head of the service then. He was meticulous and would correct everyone whenever the translation of a news or an analysis piece from English or the delivery of a person on the microphone was not up to the mark. BBC veterans Raza Ali Abidi, Viqar Ahmed and Ali Ahmed Khan were still around. Listening and speaking to them was like taking free lessons in culture and history.
Shafi Naqi Jami and Wusatullah Khan were particularly kind to me. Nayeema Ahmed Mahjoor, the Kashmiri fiction writer, journalist, broadcaster and activist was also there. Conversations with her made me look at the whole issue of Kashmir from a different lens.
A couple of my personal friends also worked in the BBC but I preferred to spend most of my time with the elders. Shahid Malik used to visit. He is a repository of literary anecdotes, jokes, serious poetry and limericks. It remains a pleasure now to have a conversation with him or read his columns and pen portraits. Arif Waqar was my true teacher at the BBC. Besides teaching me how not to fluff up on the microphone and what should be the pitch of the voice, the stresses and the pauses, he also taught me how to construct a proper sentence in Urdu for radio audiences, which, in the case of BBC Urdu, were about 20 million at that time.
All the people mentioned above come from diverse backgrounds with unique personal traits. What was common among them was their ability to pay attention to detail.
The columnist is a poet and essayist. His latest collections of verse are Hairaa’n Sar-i-Bazaar and No Fortunes to Tell
Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, March 19th, 2026
بین الاقوامی ٹرانس شپمنٹ کارگو کی منتقلی سو فیصد اسکیننگ سے مشروط کردی گئی
پاکستان میں عید الفطر کا چاند دیکھنے کےلیے رویت ہلال کمیٹی کا اجلاس آج ہوگا
شوال چاند کی رویت کے حوالے سے سپارکو کا بیان سامنے آگیا
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