Magazines
MISSIVES FROM A PRISONER OF WAR
Death has a way of rearranging the furniture of life. Drawers that have remained shut are opened and stories whose memory has grown faint re-emerge with greater clarity. If you’re lucky, you’ll find something insightful in what’s been left behind by the dearly departed. And, on the rare occasion, you may just find something revelatory.
You may just find a bundle of 159 letters tied together with a string, charting one man and his family’s extraordinary circumstances from 1971 to 1974.
This is that man, and that family’s, story.
The 159 letters written by my Nana [maternal grandfather], Saiyid Safdar Nawab, emerge a few days after his passing on December 26, 2025. They tell a story that spans the length and breadth of the Subcontinent, much like the fortunes of my family itself.
But, as with most stories, we’ll have to start at the beginning.
From 1971 to 1974, Saiyid Safdar Nawab wrote more than 150 letters to his family in Pakistan while he was held in India as a prisoner of war (POW) after the 1971 Indo-Pak war. The letters, discovered upon his death in December, present a poignant portrait of what it was like to live in POW camps for three years, separated from his family and his life back home, and the agonising wait for a return…
Born in Aligarh in 1932 to a father who was a sessions court judge, Safdar Nawab migrated to West Pakistan at the age of 20. After completing his postgraduate studies in physics, he joined the Army Education Corps (AEC) in May 1957 and taught at the Pakistan Military Academy (PMA) for more than 10 years.
In 1971, following the closure of the MT (military training) Directorate at the General Heaquarters (GHQ) in Rawalpindi, he was asked to join the Martial Law Headquarters in Dhaka as a G-2 (an information collection and analysis role). The officer initially chosen for the task wiggled his way out of the job and so, through a strange twist of fate, Safdar Nawab landed in Dhaka (or, as he spells it in adherence to its colonial-era spelling, “Dacca”) in August 1971. His wife and two children stayed back at their home on Hythe Road in Rawalpindi.
By this point, tensions were already high as Pakistan’s military action in East Pakistan had begun on March 25, 1971 — and things were only set to escalate even further once the Indian army marched into East Pakistan a few months later. After the Indo-Pak war in December of that year, the Pakistan military personnel stationed in Pakistan’s former Eastern wing became prisoners of war (POWs).
It is in the immediate aftermath of the war that Safdar Nawab sent his first letter from this collection of 159.
IN ‘DACCA’
Written on December 27, 1971, it is addressed to his wife, Shahnaz Nawab, his son, Syed Raza Nawab (aged 11), and his daughter, Mahnaz Nawab (aged two). It is written on an International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) message form, which has instructions on it in English, Urdu and Bengali. A stamp on the paper states, “Prisoner of War Mail”, while an instruction declares “Not over 25 words, family news of strictly personal character only.” The details mentioned on the form are as follows:
Sender: Major SS Nawab AEC
Postal Address: HQ MLA Sector 5 ZONE B CAMP B c/o ABPO-99 Dacca Cantt
Country: East Pakistan
Receiver: Mrs Shahnaz Nawab
Postal Address: 4-A, Hythe Road, Rawalpindi Cantt, West Pakistan
The message reads: “I wish and pray that you are well. I am fine and hope to see you all soon. We move out of Dacca in two weeks’ time.”
But, as the stamped date in the corner reveals, this message form doesn’t reach the Rawalpindi General Post Office (GPO) till February 21, 1972. In fact, the more than dozen letters that he writes over the course of those initial four months after the war are written without him even knowing whether his words are reaching his family.
Nevertheless, he keeps writing.
From giving personal updates in early January, such as “I am still in Dacca and quite comfortable. Our messing arrangements are excellent. Most of the time we spend working for the welfare of our men. I am in perfect health”, to trying to give reassurances during an uncertain time — “I am not sure if you have read my letters. I have been writing frequently. We may move out tomorrow. Shall write on reaching the next station with my address. Don’t write back for the time being. I am fine and fit. Have no worries about me. Look after yourself and pray for an early reunion” — he keeps writing.
For those few months after the war, while he keeps sending his posts, his loved ones back home have no knowledge of his whereabouts or his well-being.
However, after January 16, 1972, Safdar Nawab doesn’t write a letter for another 10 days. The reason why becomes apparent in what he sends next.
TRAIN TO INDIA
When he writes again, it is on a plain-looking postcard sent on January 26, 1972, but now the instructions on it are in English and Hindi. “Prisoner of War Mail” remains emblazoned in the corner and now his details read as follows:
Name: Major Safdar Nawab
Place and date of birth: Aligarh, 1.7.32
Prisoner of War No. S-4684
Name of camp: No 33 c/o APO 56
Country where posted: India
He is now a POW in the land of his birth.
While the Rawalpindi mailing address on the card stays the same, the country the card is being sent to is referred to as “West Pakistan.” This is the last time it will be referred to by this name in these exchanges.
Safdar Nawab says: “I am sorry I could not write for over 10 days. We left Dacca on the 17th and arrived here near Roorkee on the 24th. It was a long but interesting and comfortable journey… I am keeping fine health and hope that you all are also well. Please look after yourselves. Tomorrow is Eid — Eid Mubarak to all of you.”
His journey from Dhaka into the hinterland of India was indeed “interesting” as he passed through Uttar Pradesh (UP) and lands he was all too familiar with during his youth.
This message also betrays a glimpse of the watchful eye that the Indian army must keep on these cards, letters, notes sent by POWs as the words “near Roorkee” have been slashed out, but its mention shall surface in later letters. The majority of these 159 missives are written in English, with some longer, more detailed ones in Urdu scattered in between.
His stay here in Roorkee proves to be only temporary, as he reveals in his next letter, sent on February 11, 1972. The country of mailing is now simply referred to as “Pakistan” and Safdar Nawab pens: “Last week we have moved from Camp 33 to Camp 54. It is in Central India. We have good company with us. Noor [ul Haq] and Zuberi are also here.”
But there are no letters arriving for him from Pakistan, and it seems this absence is gnawing at him as much as the captivity itself. After it seems like the Indian POW postcards are not reaching his family, Safdar Nawab writes a letter on a page from a notepad and places it in an envelope that has a green Pakistani postage stamp on it that proudly displays the country’s name in Urdu, English and Bengali like a remnant from a fractured dream. The envelope has been stamped by the ICRC Islamabad. The contents of this letter sent on March 6, 1972 addressed to Shahnaz Nawab read as follows:
“For the last three-and-a-half months, I haven’t heard anything. We don’t understand why the mail hasn’t reached us. I only wish you are getting my letters”, and “I have been writing very regularly to you. Since December last year, I haven’t received any letter from you… We left Dacca on January 17, reached Roorkee on the 24th. On February 7th we came to this camp, which is near Sagar in CP [Central Province]. Life over here is very drab… I hope that we will soon meet… I am confident you will stand with courage… I am anxious to know about your welfare.”
It is also evident in several of the letters sent across March 1972 that Safdar Nawab is trying to assuage and allay what he perceives will be his family’s fears regarding news of trouble in some of the POW camps in India: “You might have heard some news about one of the camps in India. It is all well with us… We are all safe in this camp… There is nothing to do for us [here] and we spend the days quietly in our quarters.”
He spends all of April 1972 without receiving a single word from his family and without knowing if they have any information of his present situation.
And then, finally, a breakthrough.
LIFE IN CAMP 54
The excitement is palpable in the message he writes on May 2, 1972: “Received your [Shahnaz Nawab’s] three letters just now. The latest one, on this address, is dated April 1, 1972. The other two letters are addressed to Camp 33, dated March 1 and March 4. I felt much relieved on receiving these message forms after a gap of four-and-a-half months.”
Now that the channel of communication has been established, husband and wife begin exchanging updates with one another as, from inside Camp 54, Safdar Nawab continues to plan a future. He writes about potentially having a house built in Rawalpindi, whether the finances are being managed alright, his children’s schooling and how the rest of the wider family is doing. They both tell each other to not worry.
If anything, the knowledge of what is happening back home offers him an escape from the “monotonous life” in Camp 54. He offers us a window into what day-to-day life would have been like in those POW camps and, on May 6, 1972, he notes:
“Food arrangements over here are satisfactory. We are five of us in a neat little house. Running water with electricity is available. Overall, it is not bad. There is good company of our officers around and we are quite comfortable… There is enough time for prayers. Playing bridge is another pass-time [sic]. We are also getting Rs 110 per month as an allowance, which is mostly spent on eatables. Eggs, jams, fruits, fish, butter, achaar, milk, Ovaltine, squash etc are available in the canteen. There are books to read as well.”
He continues: “Yesterday each of us received one Pakistani packet containing towels, socks, biscuits, toothpaste, sleeping suit, chappal, PT shoes etc etc, in all 19 articles. Though we didn’t need all that, it was most welcome. Everybody felt extremely delighted and proud. You may please convey thanks to the authorities in Pakistan responsible for the gifts. This was from the Ministry of Defence through the Pak Red Cross. The morale of our men over here is high. None of us would like our government to bargain at our cost. We are ready for all sacrifices for the sake of our country… Inshallah, we will return soon, but with honour.”
But while his letters continue to state that his living conditions are satisfactory, it is evident that the concern for his wife and children in Rawalpindi is perhaps taking more of a toll on him than his own situation: “Your letters have given me great strength and have helped me in keeping my morale up. However, I often feel that you must have undergone the greatest test and mental agony during the last one year… I wish I could do something more to console you than just writing letters.”
On August 5, 1972 he writes, “It has now been over a year since I left Pindi”, and that sense of melancholy seeps through in his letter on August 10, 1972: “In your latest letter, you have said that she [Mahnaz Nawab] is speaking many sentences now. This is the most interesting age for her… I shall ever miss this period of her life.”
He is meticulous about keeping track of the letters and the dates on which he has received or sent them, and the information he has conveyed in them. His letters detail how Ramazan, Eid and Muharram are all observed in the camp. How “volleyball and cricket matches [are held] amongst 300 officers in the camp”, and how he buys “Illustrated Weekly of India and Daily Times of India regularly”, listens to the “transistor radio” and is “collecting the pages of Dennis the Menace cartoons” for his son.
A few letters are written in delight after receiving parcels sent by his wife “containing one nylon shirt, one pyjama, one jersey, one vest and one pair of socks” and “four biscuit packets, two BP toffee packets, two packets of fruit drops, two special British toffees and a big chocolate packet.” He also reminds his wife: “Probably I had written to you earlier that I am carrying all my personal belongings with me which I had at Dacca.”
While he tells Shahnaz Nawab not to worry herself by sending several parcels, the one and only thing he repeatedly keeps asking for her to send him is a picture of what his family looks like now. The delays in his letters reaching her, and in her letters reaching him, means that several months pass by without this desire being fulfilled.
And then, on April 28, 1973, the greatly-anticipated photograph finally arrives: “Received your detailed letter of March 15… and, above all, the most-awaited letter of March 1, enclosing the photograph. The photograph is lovely and I liked it very much. Though it took two months to reach me, but it gave me enormous pleasure.”
He looks at his children in the photograph. He does not know when he’ll be able to meet them again.
‘BRING THEM HOME’
Safdar Nawab, in his letters from 1971 to 1974, is convinced that, sooner or later, he will return home. His hope cannot be dimmed.
In June 1972, he writes that he is “praying for a reunion next month.” This optimism is spurred by what he notes in his message form on June 28, 1972: “President [Zulfikar Ali] Bhutto has arrived in Simla today. Let us hope some understanding and settlement is arrived at. The chances of our return are a bit brighter.”
After the summit, he writes on July 4, 1972: “The summit is over. Under the circumstances, it is the best bargain… In a couple of months’ time we hope the repatriations will also be completed.”
On December 1, 1972 Safdar Nawab writes about a significant development: “The POWs in Pakistan have been released. We have all appreciated the gesture by our president. Hope we will also return soon.” And on December 8, 1972 he notes, “Only yesterday, the decision regarding the withdrawal of troops from the border has been arrived at. Once the troops withdraw, something may follow for us. It appears that it may take us some time more before we return — maybe March/April 1973.”
With an eye on the evolving diplomatic situation, he writes on April 10, 1973: “During the last 10 days, since [P.N.] Haksar went to Dacca, it appears that the stalemate is likely to break. It looks that in the near future there will be some good news about our return to Pakistan. By the time you get this letter, something definitive might emerge.”
While Safdar Nawab reads the newspapers and listens to the radio to try and get a sense of when the repatriation process may start, his wife is already using her voice to advocate for it. Given her degree in English Literature and background in journalism, Shahnaz Nawab writes articles for several publications and pamphlets calling for the POWs to be freed.
When the United Nations Secretary General Kurt Waldheim lands in Rawalpindi in 1973, Shahnaz Nawab (with her daughter in her arms and her son by her side) and many other wives of POWs protest at the airport, demanding Waldheim take action to bring the Pakistani POWs back home.
The pressure will soon start to pay off. It has to.
FREEDOM IN SIGHT?
In the second half of 1973, the repatriation efforts begin to pick up steam. On August 29, 1973, Safdar Nawab observes, “The Indo-Pak talks in Delhi [later known as the Delhi Agreement] have been declared successful. The details are yet to be announced, but the indications are that most of the prisoners of war would be returning home. It is unfortunate that some of our brave soldiers will be further detained in India for more bargaining and exploitation. We hope and pray that the remaining POWs will also return to their families by the end of the year.”
Regarding his return, he explains in his letters in September: “With the latest developments and news, it is certain that our return is not far off. The Bengalis and Pakistanis have started moving and the first two trainloads of POWs from India will reach Lahore on the 28th and 29th of this month. With time, the transport and facilities for movement will increase and the flow of traffic will rise. It looks like most of us will be back between October 15 and November 15.
“It is understood that we will be detained in Lahore for two to three days before going on two months’ leave with the families… In case you get this letter before my return, please do not come to Lahore to receive me since the date will not be very definite and there will be too much of rush [sic] and you will find it too much of an inconvenience.”
With anticipation of his return building, he writes on September 28, 1973: “Today, the repatriation will start at Wagah. We hope that, in due course, the rate will increase and we should be back in a month or two.”
By October 12, 1973, he can see that the process is now underway: “Currently, POWs from Agra and Meerut are returning. Their first train will be reaching tomorrow. The names of those returning is announced on Radio Pakistan on the evening a train arrives. Our camp is near the city of Sagar, also known as Dhana. Here, along with our camp, there are five more camps, with nearly 1,000 people.”
But, in November, the process slows down: “This process is moving slower than I had expected. Another two three months, I hope… Once the UP camps are emptied, that is when our turn will come,” he writes. And in December: “Temporarily, the process of repatriation has stopped due to railway employees’ strike in India. Hope it will soon restart and all the backlog cleared.”
That wait will continue for an agonising amount of time because, on January 18, 1974, Safdar Nawab scribbles a message in the margins shortly before dispatching this letter: “Next four trains from this camp running this month have been announced. I am not leaving this month. See you next month, Inshallah.”
But his worries are about to be unexpectedly compounded. In his letter on February 25, 1974, he makes a revelation: “I am sending this letter through Captain Mehboob [Ahmed] who is departing today. We are not allowed to send letters with anyone leaving but because Captain Mehboob is at the hospital [with me] and is leaving for the train from here I’m hoping no one will stop this letter.
“Yesterday, I got admitted to the CMH [Combined Military Hospital] here. There is nothing to worry about, it’s just the back pain I wrote to you about. When I walk around too much it gets amplified. According to the Indian surgical specialist, there is nothing wrong with the bones and it will all soon be well on my return to Pakistan. The pain is said to be muscular, aggravated by poor diet and mental worries.
“Today the train that departs will be carrying 30 officers…[In] total, till tomorrow, eight trains would have departed from here… Now, nearly 170 officers are left [from our camp]. Nearly 115 officers have been sent home. Hoping the next few trains will be able to accommodate the remaining officers. Next train leaves February 28 and then March 10… They haven’t announced the names for the next train yet. I am praying to God that my name is on it and I can return home by March.”
His final letter out of these 159 is written on March 15, 1974 and says, “I am trying to send this letter to you through someone leaving by the train on March 16. There are two more trains to leave this camp in this month, reaching Lahore on March 25 and 29. The names of officers have not been announced yet.”
He is not going to be on either one of those trains.
THE FINAL JOURNEY
He was on the last train to leave “Dacca” for India. Now, Safdar Nawab is on the last POW train to leave India for Pakistan. From Sagar, he travels to Amritsar by train and then boards a bus to Wagah. He crosses over into Lahore on April 21, 1974. Shahnaz Nawab will forever remember this date, especially since it coincides with Allama Iqbal’s death anniversary. Safdar Nawab’s wife and son are there to receive him.
On his second day in Lahore, Safdar Nawab heads to the CMH to see the neurosurgeon on his own accord. The doctor tells him to just get some rest. He is told that his full medical check-up will be done in Kharian after two to three months.
By the end of 1974, he was promoted to Lt Colonel and, in November 1977, he was made a full colonel and appointed as the principal of Lawrence College in Murree. He retired as a brigadier and went on to work at the Dr A.Q. Khan Research Laboratories (KRL) in Kahuta as the Additional Director Administration.
Safdar Nawab lived to the age of 94. He left behind a record of endurance, of a man who stayed present in his own life while being forcibly removed from it. Of a man who, stripped of movement and agency in captivity, did the only thing he could: he wrote himself home.
The writer is a member of staff. He can be
reached at hasnain.nawab1@gmail.com
Published in Dawn, EOS, January 25th, 2026
A recent video showing a Quran that survived the devastating fire at Karachi’s Gul Plaza has reignited a centuries-old conversation. Throughout history, accounts of Bibles, Qurans or Buddhist sutras emerging unscathed from catastrophic floods and fires have been celebrated as Divine interventions. While these events offer profound spiritual solace, a closer look reveals a fascinating intersection of material physics and psychological bias.
From a physical standpoint, Dougal Drysdale, Professor Emeritus at the University of Edinburgh, suggests that a hardbound book’s survival is often due to the ‘Closed Book Effect.’ When shut, a book functions as a dense, oxygen-starved block of cellulose. Because fire requires a steady flow of oxygen to consume fuel, the tightly packed pages resist ignition by preventing airflow from reaching the interior.
In the event of a flood, the surface tension of water against tightly pressed pages creates a natural barrier. This prevents deep seepage for a significant period, often leaving the heart of the book perfectly dry.
American psychologist Thomas Gilovich explains that when a sacred text survives a disaster, it often becomes more than just a book. It is elevated to a sacred relic. This transformation, according to Gilovich, can significantly redefine a community’s cultural path. In the aftermath of the 2011 Joplin tornado in Missouri, US, survivors and news outlets frequently highlighted the ‘miraculous’ discovery of intact Bibles among the rubble of flattened homes.
The survival of holy texts in the aftermath of natural catastrophes is often termed ‘Divine protection’, revealing the cultural and spiritual narratives people love to attach to such instances
While hardbound dictionaries and cookbooks likely survived in the same ruins due to their similar physical construction, these secular items were ignored by the media as mere debris. The surviving Bibles were immediately elevated from functional reading material to sacred relics, often being framed and displayed as symbols of Divine protection.
By focusing on these specific books, the media triggered a cognitive bias that led people to view the event through a supernatural lens rather than recognising the simple physical durability of bound paper.
British scholar Susan Whitfield, in her 2004 work The Silk Road: Trade, Travel, War and Faith, details the discovery of the Mogao Caves in China. In that instance, the sealing of the Buddhist text the Diamond Sutra (868 CE) within a dry, walled-up chamber created a “natural vault” that protected the world’s oldest-dated printed book from the degrading effects of humidity and oxygen for nearly a millennium. The perception of such objects often shifts from the literary to the ‘miraculous’.
During World War I, pocket Bibles carried by soldiers occasionally stopped shrapnel due to the high density of their compressed paper. This led many soldiers to treat the Bibles as protective talismans.
The Codex Amiatinus, frequently referred to as the ‘Grandfather’ of Latin Bibles, has survived for over 1,300 years due to its immense physical durability. According to Drysdale, this enormous volume, created around 700 CE in Northumbria, England, weighs over 34 kilogrammes and was crafted from the skins of more than 500 calves.
The use of high-quality parchment makes the Bible significantly more resistant to fire and decay, as organic animal skins lack the highly flammable, oxygen-trapping fibres found in wood-pulp paper. This Bible remained virtually untouched for a millennium, preserved by the stable environment of an Italian abbey that served as a ‘natural vault.’
In West Africa, the Desert Manuscripts of Timbuktu offer a compelling example of texts surviving environmental factors, a story often framed as miraculous. When Islamist militants set fire to the Ahmed Baba Institute in 2013, there was widespread global concern over the potential loss of thousands of ancient Islamic manuscripts. However, according to the researcher Mauro Nobili, the extreme aridity of the Sahara desert was critical in aiding their preservation for centuries.
The persistently low humidity prevented mould growth and kept the delicate ink stable, allowing for their long-term survival, which many viewed as a modern miracle. However, the more vulnerable manuscripts were secretly shifted to safer locations before the militants set fire to the Ahmed Baba Institute.
During the Viking raid on Lindisfarne — a tidal island off the northeast coast of England — in 793 CE, a legend emerged concerning a sacred book, Lindisfarne Gospels, which was said to have been dropped into the sea by fleeing priests. Three days later, it washed up perfectly dry. While this specific account is often considered apocryphal, the physical survival of such ancient texts is frequently due to their durable leather and metal bindings, which act as a protective shell for the internal vellum.
Gilovich would point to stories such as this ‘dry’ recovery of a Bible as prime examples of how the media and oral tradition prioritise miraculous narratives over the mundane reality of material science, thereby reinforcing spiritual beliefs.
According to the prominent professor of psychological sciences J. Park, communities frequently transform these survival stories into powerful symbols of “Divine protection” as a means of processing the profound trauma of disasters. This phenomenon ultimately highlights a dynamic intersection, where material science meets deep human sentiment.
While the inherent fire-resistant properties of vellum offer logical, scientific explanations for the physical survival of many books, the human psychological element remains paramount. The inherent human need to find order, meaning and hope within chaos is what elevates these surviving sacred objects from mere material items to vital spiritual anchors for a community’s recovery and continuity.
The endurance of these texts represents a profound intersection between material science and human psychology. It is not merely the density of vellum, the chemical stability of ancient inks or the aridity of a desert that ensures survival. Rather, it is the way these physical realities interact with our inherent drive to find order in the wake of destruction.
Gilovich’s research posits that when a community witnesses the survival of a sacred text, they are not simply observing a quirk of physics. They are engaging in what Park describes as “meaning-making”, using the survived sacred object to process trauma and reclaim a sense of ‘Divine protection.’ Whether through the preservation of the Diamond Sutra in caves, or a Bible or a Quran found amidst the ruins of a modern disaster, these serve as a bridge between the tangible and the transcendent. Their survival is a testament to the fact that, while fire and time may consume the material, the cultural and spiritual narratives we attach to them remain indestructible.
Yet, it is equally important that we recognise the physical realities of their endurance, acknowledging that the science of material durability does not diminish the ‘miracle’, but rather provides a rational foundation for understanding how the written word survives the very elements meant to destroy it.
Published in Dawn, EOS, February 1st, 2026
Different varieties of leafy green vegetables (locally known as saag) are commonly grown in the Subcontinent due to the favourable growing conditions here. These green vegetables are prepared in traditional meals that contain the signature South Asian touch. However, Swiss chard remains relatively unknown to many.
Swiss chard is one of the easiest-to-grow leafy green vegetables. Unlike other leafy green vegetables, Swiss chard has beautiful bright green-coloured leaves with white, yellow or maroon midribs and stem. No wonder that a few sub-varieties of the Swiss chard are referred to as rainbow chard!
It is also known as spinach beet and leaf beet, while other names reflect the colour of its stems. For instance, the ones with white midribs are referred to as silver beet and those with red or maroon stems are known as rhubarb chard. Its striking colour combinations make it attractive enough as an ornamental plant.
Scientifically known as Beta vulgaris L. var. cicla, Swiss chard belongs to the Amaranthaceae family, which was formerly known as the Chenopodiaceae family. While it is also considered a beet, its root is inedible. Due to its close resemblance to spinach and beet root, it is not recommended to grow Swiss chard near either of them. Pests and diseases affecting beet root and spinach will likely attack Swiss chard as well.
While many other types of saag dominate South Asian kitchens, Swiss chard — of Mediterranean origin — remains largely unknown here…
Contrary to its name, Swiss chard does not originate from Switzerland. The origin of the ‘Swiss’ prefix remains contentious. One theory is that it is widely grown in Switzerland. In fact, Swiss chard primarily originates from the Mediterranean region. However, it is extensively used in Swiss cuisine.
Another theory is that the botanist who first classified this vegetable was Swiss and used the prefix to create a distinction from other leafy vegetables. The most common theory is that the European seed merchants added Swiss to distinguish it from the closely related French chard. If that were not enough to confuse you all, the word ‘chard’ is of Latin origin, meaning thistle — a common gardening term referring to a flowering plant which has prickly bracts.
Swiss chard seeds are easily confused with those of spinach, due to their stark resemblance. The seeds of Swiss chard are faded brown to dark brown in colour. They have a dry, rough texture and are irregular in shape. The seeds are hard and are surprisingly light for their size. Like spinach, one seed of Swiss chard can result in three to four seedlings. For this reason, it is known as a seed ball, containing potentially three to four seeds.
Being hardy, Swiss chard has minimal requirements. One of the best aspects about sowing Swiss chard seeds is that they can be grown in almost any available space. You can grow it on a strip of land, small pots and even around other plants in the same pot. However, when sowing Swiss chard seeds for a full crop, certain aspects should be taken into account.
In climates similar to Karachi, the seeds can be sown from mid-October onwards or when the temperature falls to 20 degrees Celsius. The potting mix should be pre-moistened and clear of pebbles and stones. Seeds should be placed half an inch below the surface and covered with a layer of compost. The soil should remain moist, not wet.
Depending on the desired yield, any pot size can be used, since the roots are small. Pots should then be placed in a cool shade with indirect sunlight. If the Swiss chard plant is being grown in an open field or in raised beds, it should be shielded from direct sunlight exposure, to minimise evaporation.
Some gardeners prefer to soak the seeds in water for four to six hours to ensure better and quick germination. In favourable conditions, Swiss chard seeds are likely to sprout within one week to 10 days.
Please send your queries and emails to doctree101@hotmail.com. The writer is a physician and a host for the YouTube channel ‘DocTree Gardening’ promoting organic kitchen gardening
Published in Dawn, EOS, February 1st, 2026
Dear Auntie,
Hope you are well. I am seeking your advice regarding a situation that has been bothering me for a long time. I’m a university student and I met this girl. She seemed very interested in me at that time and so was I in her. We had great chemistry, something I’ve never felt in my life. But I never confessed my feelings to her because of certain things I heard about her. Later, I found out she was dating someone. I internalised my love for her for quite a long time, almost a year, until I couldn’t hold it in, and confessed everything to her, even though I knew she was in a relationship.
The nature of my work requires me to face her and, whenever we work together, that chemistry-like muscle memory hits like a truck and I fall head over heels for her all over again. Even though getting her is nothing but a distant dream, I still can’t get over her and long for her all the time. It’s like a stalemate. I would really appreciate your advice on this.
Longing and Yearning
‘I Am Obsessed With a Woman I Can’t Have’
Dear Longing and Yearning,
This is a classic case of excellent chemistry but bad timing. Auntie has seen this film before and the hero always thinks that this one love is ‘different’. Maybe it is different for you. But the situation is very, very old.
Let’s start with the fact that you don’t want to face… that this is not love. This is emotional attachment, mixed with a heavy dose of imagination. And it is a powerful mix, made more powerful because the person in question is unavailable.
Every time you see her, your brain tells you “Ah yes, the unfinished business.” But notice something important… the girl chose someone else. This was not because you are not good enough, but because her life moved in a different direction. That is her choice, and chasing emotionally after someone who has chosen another path slowly kills your self-respect.
The chemistry you talk about is a result of you training your mind for a year to revolve around her. Of course, your brain runs back there. Our minds do what seems familiar and comfortable. Right now, you are feeding the feeling every time you replay moments and analyse your interactions with her. You are emotionally investing in a door that is firmly shut and you are wondering why you feel stuck outside. Of course, you are stuck!
It is time to start acting professionally with her. And it is time to stop any emotional conversations with her and avoid needless eye-contact. When your mind starts romanticising anything about her, interrupt it with reality, by reminding yourself that she is in a relationship and that you deserve someone who is available.
The person who is meant for you will not require this much suffering just to exist in your life. Mutual love is supposed to feel stable.
You are not losing her. You are grieving a life that you imagined. The grief will pass when you stop feeding it. You are simply holding on to an illusion because it once felt beautiful. Just let it be beautiful. And let it go.
Disclaimer: If you or someone you know is in crisis and/or feeling suicidal, please go to your nearest emergency room and seek medical help immediately.
Auntie will not reply privately to any query. Please send concise queries to: auntieagni@gmail.com
Published in Dawn, EOS, February 1st, 2026
Bulls cross 185,000 milestone on value-hunting
Urea sales plunge to six-year low
Why Pakistan must become a cricket superpower
Australia down Japan in U-19 World Cup to make Super 6s
Trade gap with nine neighbours widens 44.4pc in first half
Realme Neo8 Specs Details Emerge One Day Before Launch
-
Sports2 weeks agoAustralia down Japan in U-19 World Cup to make Super 6s
-
Business1 week agoTrade gap with nine neighbours widens 44.4pc in first half
-
Tech2 weeks ago
Realme Neo8 Specs Details Emerge One Day Before Launch
-
Tech3 days ago
Realme 16 Proves Slim Phones Don’t Need to Have Small Batteries
-
Tech2 weeks ago
The SJCAM C400 Is A Creative Camcorder Designed For Vloggers Looking For Action Shots
-
Tech1 week ago
Samsung Galaxy S26 Ultra Release Date Fights Pixel 10a And iPhone 17e
-
Business2 weeks ago
Regulations amended for rights shares
-
Business6 days ago
Gold’s rally continues past $5,200 after dollar plunges to near four-year low