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NON-FICTION: THE PAKISTAN JINNAH WANTED – Newspaper
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
Accepted
By Matthew Lycakis
Self-published
ISBN: 978-1764036108
262pp.
Matthew Lycakis is a crime-thriller author based in the Gold Coast of Australia, balancing a busy corporate career with writing. With Accepted, his debut novel, he offers a gripping and dark narrative that dives headfirst into the sinister underbelly of fame, ambition and manipulation.
The book serves as a stark commentary on the exploitation of youth and the price of acceptance in a world driven by power, secrecy and social currency. Set primarily in Gold Coast, Accepted follows the journey of Kath Corrigan, a high school track star with Olympic dreams and a fractured family life. Narrated in the third person but often from Kath’s perspective, the story opens with familiar young adult themes — athletic ambition, teen popularity and family dysfunction — but quickly pivots into a psychological thriller brimming with suspense and social critique.
Diving into the storyline, Kath is a student athlete with a strong social media presence and a seemingly bright future. Her best friend, Jasmine — another rising star — introduces her to ‘The Group’, an elite, secretive organisation masquerading as a talent management agency. The Group offers luxury, be it private jets, designer clothes or exclusive parties. But the price is steep.
Kath soon finds herself entangled in a web of manipulation, abuse and coercion. Her identity is moulded to fit The Group’s aesthetic and agenda, her privacy stripped away under constant surveillance and “initiations”. Lycakis slowly peels away the glitzy facade to reveal a cult-like organisation, exploiting vulnerable young talent for power and profit.
A powerful debut novel merges suspense with emotional depth and captures the dangerous allure of acceptance in an age dominated by influence and image
Parallel to Kath’s story is that of James William, a detective with a haunted past. When young girls begin disappearing or turning up dead, James is drawn into the investigation. As he pieces together the clues, his journey intersects with Kath’s, leading to a high-stakes rescue mission involving federal agents and deep-rooted criminal networks.
The novel’s backdrop, from high school tracks and suburban kitchens to luxury islands and underground societies, is meticulously constructed. The story ranges from the recognisable to the surreal, yet remains grounded in its characters’ emotional turmoil. Lycakis’s decision to switch perspectives between Kath and James enriches the narrative and adds tension.
Lycakis writes in a crisp and direct style, with dialogue that flows naturally. He blends elements of a psychological thriller with crime and coming-of-age fiction. The pacing accelerates as the plot thickens, reflecting Kath’s descent into, and eventual rebellion against, the darkness she’s been lured into.
Kath is a standout protagonist. Her emotional arc is complex, and she evolves from a confident teen into someone deeply conflicted and fearful, yet ultimately courageous. Her vulnerabilities — a mother battling addiction, a yearning for stability and a thirst for recognition — make her real and relatable. Jasmine, though initially enigmatic, becomes a tragic figure whose past choices haunt her present. Georgina, another complicated character, starts as a cold handler for The Group but later reveals a broken past and becomes an unlikely ally. James, burdened by trauma and his strained family life, serves as the novel’s moral compass, often walking the line between professional duty and personal demons.
Accepted highlights stories that reveal how cult-like systems prey on the fragile, especially women. However, it maintains a distinct narrative style and focuses heavily on themes of surveillance, manipulation and institutionalised abuse cloaked in glamour.
While Accepted offers a gripping and emotionally resonant ride, some readers may find its thematic darkness overwhelming. The plot is emotionally heavy and at times grim, with depictions of coercion, abuse and mental breakdown. Lycakis avoids too many descriptions, but the weight of trauma is deeply felt, so this may not be for readers seeking a light thriller.
The novel’s conclusion, while satisfying in terms of narrative closure, ties things up a bit too neatly, given the chaos that precedes it. However, a few supporting characters, particularly those within The Group’s inner circle, could have benefitted from deeper psychological insight. While the dual narrative structure is effective, James’ storyline occasionally risks slowing down the momentum of Kath’s emotionally charged arc.
That said, the author’s intention is clear: to unsettle, to interrogate systems of power and to amplify the voices of those navigating a world that often preys on ambition. In this, he succeeds remarkably well. Accepted is a powerful debut novel that merges suspense with emotional depth. It captures the vulnerabilities of adolescence and the dangerous allure of acceptance in an age dominated by influence and image. Lycakis’ portrayal of a young woman thrust into a corrupt world, and her fight to survive it, is both harrowing and hopeful.
With a strong female lead, tight plotting and a haunting commentary on modern-day exploitation, Accepted makes a compelling case for itself and is a must-read for fans of the contemporary thriller genre. It is recommended for readers who enjoy stories that confront hard truths and explore the shadows lurking beneath the spotlight.
The reviewer is a content lead at a communications agency
She can be reached at sara.amj@hotmail.co.uk
Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, March 19th, 2026
Beyond the Bomb: Munir Ahmad Khan and Pakistan’s Nuclear Odyssey
By Farhatullah Babar
Lightstone
ISBN: 978-969-716-317-5
334pp.
Since its inception became public in the 1970s, Pakistan’s nuclear weapons programme has been mired in myths, controversies and apprehension. The global community was quick to link the country’s nuclear ambitions to its religious leanings. The “Islamic bomb” became the popular moniker for Pakistan’s nuclear goals.
Although eight countries have declared their possession of nuclear weapons and Israel is widely assumed to have them as well, the religious identity is only associated with Pakistan. We have not heard of Jewish, Hindu or Christian bombs — although the last (if bombs are to have a faith tag) are the only ones to have wiped out hundreds of thousands in Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945 during World War II.
Successive Pakistani rulers have also played politics with taking credit, or doling it out. In the process, the man the Pakistani establishment chose to recognise as the “Father of the Bomb” was Abdul Qadeer Khan. The pioneers have been practically air-brushed out of the history of Pakistan’s nuclear development. In Beyond the Bomb: Munir Ahmad Khan and Pakistan’s Nuclear Odyssey, Farhatullah Babar sets out to give belated recognition to one of the pioneers and to correct the course of Pakistan’s nuclear history.
A former senator and journalist, apart from being known as a human rights activist, Babar served as the director of information at the Pakistan Atomic Energy Commission (PAEC) in the 1970s. This was the period when Munir Ahmad Khan was its chairman.
Former Senator Farhatullah Babar’s book of memoirs aims to set the record straight by putting the spotlight on the low-key Munir Ahmad Khan and his pivotal role in shaping Pakistan’s nuclear programme
The opening chapter makes for riveting reading, as Babar gives an account of a significant secret meeting held in 1972 in Multan, addressed by Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, who was president at the time. Dr Abdus Salam was also present at this meeting, as was Munir Ahmad Khan, who Bhutto handpicked to spearhead the programme. This meeting was held after the break-up of the country and India’s intentions to pursue a nuclear weapons programme had been confirmed. It was a time when perceived threats from India were at their peak.
Munir Ahmad Khan lived to see Pakistan conduct nuclear tests in May 1998 and, according to Babar, he was elated by their success. However, by this time, sadly, he had been sidelined. The newbies who had been installed managed to steal the limelight with the support of the Pakistani establishment. Babar writes in depth about Munir Ahmad Khan’s way of working — for him discretion, secrecy and remaining low-key were integral to the success of Pakistan’s nuclear programme.
In the 1970s, the Pakistani establishment itself was paranoid about secrecy. The writer describes how he came under suspicion after meeting an Indian journalist (my guess is that it was Kuldip Nayar) at an Islamabad hotel with the permission of his boss, Munir Ahmad Khan. Another time, when he was returning at night from the PAEC chairman’s house, he was accosted by a group of young men who snatched his briefcase at gunpoint. His trauma was compounded by the police’s repeated questioning.
However, Pakistan’s paranoia could be understood to an extent — after all, the nuclear weapons programme had been undertaken in earnest in response to the Indian nuclear tests in 1974 and the US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger had also threatened to teach Pakistan “a horrible lesson” for pursuing its nuclear ambitions.
While Munir Ahmad Khan was a model of discretion and shied away from the media, those who followed basked in the limelight they themselves helped create. Foremost among them was Abdul Qadeer Khan, who was obsessed with self-projection and, soon after joining the nuclear programme, managed to sideline Munir Ahmad Khan and other pioneers.
The writer acknowledges Abdul Qadeer Khan’s capabilities and contributions, but his role in pushing aside Munir Ahmad Khan clearly rankles him. Babar portrays the PAEC head as a strong believer and practitioner of discretion. Apart from it being a personal quality, he advocated restraint in the development of nuclear weapons.
Apart from Munir Ahmad Khan, Beyond the Bomb also focuses on the contribution of two lesser-known scientists — Professor Riazuddin and Sultan Bashiruddin Mahmood (SBM). Here’s how Babar describes them: “Professor Riazuddin’s life was one of quiet heroism, exemplifying those who build structures without seeking applause”, while SBM’s “invention of a sophisticated device to detect heavy water leaks, patented in his name as ‘SBM Probes’, earned him initial laurels and recognition.”
The author highlights the contribution of each and contrasts their attitudes towards nuclear tests. SBM, unfortunately, had to suffer persecution by the country’s intelligence agencies when he tried to do charitable work in Afghanistan after his retirement and was accused by the US of seeking to supply nuclear know-how to Al Qaeda. Another pioneer to be marginalised was Dr Abdus Salam. The later Nobel Laureate, who was present at the first secretive meeting called by Bhutto, was possibly victimised for his faith. However, envy of his abilities and intellect surely also played a part in Dr Salam being ignored from Pakistan’s nuclear history.
Munir Ahmad Khan continued his work with dedication and sound judgement in challenging circumstances, exercising restraint, as was his nature. Meanwhile, the flamboyant Abdul Qadeer Khan’s star was on the rise. As Babar writes, “An internal coup, driven by ambitions and rivalries within, had… taken place in Pakistan’s nuclear establishment in the mid-1970s.” Munir Ahmad Khan’s role was deliberately diminished. He was finally recognised (posthumously) and awarded the Nishan-i-Pakistan by President Asif Ali Zardari in 2012.
Beyond the Bomb may be a belated attempt to give credit where it is due, but Babar’s efforts to set the record straight should not be in vain. For scholars and students interested in how Pakistan began and continued its risky nuclear journey, this is an informative and fairly objective source of research. While the book is about Munir Ahmad Khan, the wider context of the nuclear programme and its actors are well-covered. It would perhaps surprise most readers that the head of PAEC was himself a pacifist and believed in the responsible use of nuclear power.
The writer seems to have had a relationship of mutual trust and respect with his boss, Munir Ahmad Khan. He writes of the PAEC chairman with admiration about both his personal and professional qualities. He notes that, even when denying him a pay raise, Munir Ahmad Khan balanced it by reminding Babar how fortunate he was to be part of this important chapter of the nation’s history.
Although he worked for the nuclear establishment, albeit as a media person, Babar remained committed to peace. The desire for regional peace is reflected in the dedication note that Beyond the Bomb carries: “To those who, even while possessing the bomb, see far beyond it, choosing restraint over recklessness and daring to imagine peace in a region haunted by brinkmanship and war.”
The reviewer is a human rights activist and a former chairperson of the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan
Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, March 19th, 2026
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