By: Raphic Burdo

Among the many misconceptions that shape modern economic life, none is more pervasive than the confusion surrounding wealth.

We speak of it constantly. We pursue it, admire it, envy it, tax it, inherit it, lose it, and occasionally write books about it. Yet for all the attention devoted to wealth, I am of the view that many otherwise intelligent people misunderstand its most fundamental characteristic. They mistake income for wealth and wealth for income.

At first glance, the confusion seems harmless. After all, money is money. If one person earns more than another, it seems reasonable to assume that the higher earner will eventually become wealthier. Indeed, much of modern life is organized around this assumption. Students are encouraged to seek high-paying professions. Universities advertise the salaries of their graduates. Parents proudly tell relatives what their children earn. Newspapers publish annual lists of the highest-paid executives, athletes, entertainers, and entrepreneurs. The implicit message is unmistakable: earn more and you will become wealthy. Yet, in fact, the matter is not quite so straightforward.

Over the years, I have encountered individuals, you may also have met a few, who earned extraordinary incomes and nevertheless remained financially insecure. On the other end of spectrum, I have also met schoolteachers, engineers, civil servants, small shopkeepers, and farmers who never enjoyed spectacular earnings but gradually accumulated substantial wealth. The first group often appeared prosperous; the second frequently appeared ordinary. Yet appearances, as they so often do, concealed more than they revealed. This observation raises an uncomfortable yet important question: if wealth is simply the result of income, how can such contrasting outcomes occur. The answer to this, in my opinion, is that income and wealth belong to different categories of economic reality. Income is what flows into your life. Wealth is what remains. This distinction appears simple, but entire lives are shaped by whether one understands it.

Read: What is the difference between income and wealth?

Economists sometimes describe income as a flow and wealth as a stock. Although the terminology may sound technical, the underlying idea is remarkably intuitive. Consider a river and a reservoir. The river represents income. Water is constantly flowing through it. The reservoir represents wealth. Water accumulates there over time and remains available long after the rain has stopped. A person may enjoy a mighty river of income and yet possess a very small reservoir. Another may have only a modest stream of income but a surprisingly large reservoir. The size of the river certainly matters. However, what ultimately determines long-term security is not merely how much water passes through the system, but how much is retained.

I sometimes suspect that our fascination with income stems from the fact that income is visible. Salaries can be announced. Promotions can be celebrated. Bonuses can be discussed at dinner parties. Wealth, by contrast, is often invisible. No one notices the shares quietly accumulating in an investment account. Few people admire a declining mortgage balance. The patient acquisition of productive assets rarely attracts attention. Human beings are naturally drawn toward visible symbols of success. Consequently, societies often celebrate the appearance of wealth while overlooking its foundations. This confusion has become particularly pronounced in the modern age.

Consumer culture, aided by advertising, social media, and easy credit, has transformed spending into a public performance. Never before have had individuals possessed so many opportunities to display prosperity. Cars, watches, homes, holidays, clothing, restaurants, and electronic devices have become symbols through which people communicate status. Yet there is an irony here. Many of the things commonly associated with wealth are not signs of wealth at all. They are signs of expenditure. A luxury car may indicate wealth. But it may also indicate debt.

A large house may reflect financial strength. It may equally reflect financial strain. Expensive possessions reveal remarkably little about the condition of a person’s balance sheet. Indeed, one of the paradoxes of economic life is that wealth is often least visible among those who possess the most of it. This observation is not new. Throughout history, thoughtful observers have noticed that genuine wealth tends to accumulate quietly. The merchant families of Renaissance Italy, the trading communities of South Asia, the industrial entrepreneurs of nineteenth-century Britain, and countless family businesses around the world all understood a principle that remains true today: wealth grows through ownership, patience, and accumulation rather than through display. The world notices the mansion. It rarely notices the decades of disciplined decisions that made the mansion possible.

Moreover, there is a psychological dimension to this discussion that deserves attention. I am persuaded that the greatest obstacle to wealth is often not low income but an inability to define what constitutes enough.

Human desires possess an extraordinary capacity for expansion. When income rises, expectations tend to rise alongside it. What once appeared luxurious soon becomes normal. What once seemed unnecessary gradually becomes essential. A larger home, a better car, more exclusive experiences, and increasingly expensive habits are absorbed into everyday life. This process occurs so gradually that many people fail to notice it. They earn more each year and yet feel no closer to financial freedom. Their standard of living improves, but their financial security remains elusive. The problem is not that they earn too little. The problem is that increased income is converted into increased consumption rather than increased wealth. This distinction may appear subtle, but its consequences compound across decades.

A young professional who saves and invests a modest portion of income year after year often accumulates more lasting wealth than a higher earner who spends nearly everything. This outcome strikes many people as unfair. Yet it is neither unfair nor mysterious. It is merely arithmetic operating over long periods of time. The ancient merchants who traded along the Silk Road understood this. So did Benjamin Franklin. So did the industrialists of the nineteenth century and many of the world’s most successful investors today.

While technologies, industries, and economic systems have evolved dramatically, the underlying mechanics of wealth have changed surprisingly little. First, value must be created. Secondly, a portion of that value must be preserved. Thirdly, preserved value must be transformed into productive assets. Finally, time must be allowed to perform its quiet work. The sequence sounds almost disappointingly simple. Yet simplicity should not be mistaken for ease. Every stage requires discipline. Every stage requires patience. Every stage also requires a willingness to sacrifice immediate gratification for future possibility.

This is why I am inclined to describe wealth as deferred consumption. Every meaningful asset represents something that could have been consumed but was not. A luxury postponed. An impulse resisted. A bonus invested rather than spent. A purchase delayed in favour of a more productive use of capital. Seen in this light, wealth becomes more than a financial phenomenon. It becomes a record of decisions made across time. It becomes evidence that an individual cared not only about present desires but also about future opportunities.

Indeed, the more we reflect upon the subject, the more convinced we become that wealth is fundamentally about freedom. Not because wealth guarantees happiness or eliminates suffering or solves every human problem but because wealth expands choice. It provides the freedom to leave an unhealthy workplace. The freedom to support one’s family during difficult periods. The freedom to pursue meaningful work rather than merely necessary work. The freedom to withstand adversity without panic. The freedom to think long-term when circumstances encourage short-term thinking.

Money itself possesses little intrinsic value. Its significance lies in the possibilities it creates. This, in my opinion, is the first great truth that every young person should understand. Do not confuse earning money with becoming wealthy. The two are related, but they are not identical. Income creates opportunity. Wealth emerges from what is done with that opportunity. The highest earners do not always become wealthy. The wealthiest individuals are not always the highest earners. The difference lies in understanding that money earned is only potential. Wealth arises when that potential is preserved, directed, and allowed to mature over time.

Over a long period of time, I am convinced that this distinction explains much of what we observe in economic life. Income may arrive with great fanfare and depart with equal speed. Wealth, by contrast, tends to grow quietly, almost invisibly. Like a tree, its progress is difficult to detect from day to day and remarkable when observed across decades. Perhaps that is why so many people misunderstand it. They notice the fruit. They rarely notice the years of growth that made the fruit possible.

Read: The Mules Mansion of Karachi

__________________

Raphic Burdo is a student of Literature, Psychology, Public Policy and Entrepreneurship. He writes on the subjects where all four intersect.

The post The Great Confusion about Wealth first appeared on Sindh Courier.

By Abdullah Usman Morai | Sweden

The travelogue “Paan Pasiyo Pardeh” (“Seeing Foreign Lands with One’s Own Eyes”), written by Mrs. Safia Ansari, the wife of former banker Mr. Rafiuddin Junejo, is open on my computer screen, and I have been asked to write a few words about it.

In this limited span of life, I have nurtured only a few modest wishes, and among those wishes is the desire to travel across this world created by God and witness its wonders firsthand. Traveling occupies a place in my heart akin to love itself. To the best of my ability, I often share my own travel experiences with like-minded friends, but even more than that, I greatly enjoy reading, watching, and listening to the experiences of fellow travelers.

Traveling and experiencing new places is an essential part of life. Through journeys within one’s own country or across the world, a person learns about different cultures, civilizations, lifestyles, cuisines, and the everyday lives of people elsewhere. Exploring new places broadens the mind, teaches valuable lessons, and reveals many dimensions of life that might otherwise remain hidden.

Travel also allows people to disconnect from their daily routines and temporarily forget the problems and pressures of everyday life. Some experts even believe that when individuals step away from their routine environments, they often find it easier to think about and solve problems that previously seemed overwhelming. Researchers further suggest that travel significantly reduces stress levels. One survey even indicated that when people leave their familiar surroundings and embark on a journey, both the mind and body experience a kind of reset, which may contribute to a reduced risk of heart-related illnesses.

Sometimes, things that are close to us possess great value, yet we fail to recognize their importance. It is often said that we only appreciate something fully once it is absent. Likewise, when people spend a few weeks away from their loved ones and families, the physical distance temporarily interrupts regular contact, making them realize the true significance of those relationships. In this sense, travel often brings people emotionally closer to those they care about.

When parents travel with their children, the children gain firsthand exposure to how the world functions, and their confidence grows. Traveling with family and loved ones creates treasured memories that remain valuable throughout life.

Solo travel, too, has its own unique pleasures. It strengthens decision-making abilities and teaches valuable skills such as time management, communication, stress management, independent problem-solving, planning, budgeting, attempting to understand foreign languages, developing mental maturity, and becoming more adaptable. When a person travels alone, they engage in an important dialogue with themselves. They become responsible for their own food, clothing, accommodation, and overall well-being. Yet traveling with friends has its own advantages as well, providing companionship and a sense of security.

Traveling can help people develop positive habits while letting go of some negative ones. Wise observers often note that frequent travelers become adept at solving problems and are less intimidated by change. Life itself is a temporary gathering that must one day come to an end. Therefore, when individuals travel, whether alone or with family, they spend some of life’s finest moments together, creating memories that remain cherished forever. After returning home, travelers can recount their adventures to friends, reliving those moments and drawing joy from their recollections. Perhaps, through travel, one also discovers and understands oneself more deeply.

And now, let us accompany Mr. Rafiuddin Junejo and Mrs. Safia Ansari on their journey through Spain and Andorra.

This travelogue offers a comprehensive introduction to Spain and Andorra, providing readers interested in these countries with a wealth of information in one place. The reader’s curiosity is captured from the very beginning when Mrs. Safia recounts a childhood dream about Spain and recalls how a student, during her years as a college teacher, once examined her palm and predicted that she possessed a remarkably long “line of travel” in her destiny.

In my view, this is more than a mere coincidence. Destiny works in mysterious ways. First comes the passion for travel; then comes a life partner who shares that same passion; and finally, by the grace of God, come the opportunities and resources to pursue those dreams. I can confidently say that Mr. Rafiuddin and Mrs. Safia form an ideal couple who are actively fulfilling their travel aspirations and making meaningful use of their resources. The wise have spoken truly: blessed is the person whose life companion is also a companion in thought.

Reading this travelogue allows one not only to enjoy the couple’s travel experiences but also to gain fascinating historical insights into the Arab era, Islam, Christianity, Judaism, and numerous historical events. Beyond that, the book is enriched with philosophical reflections, quotations, proverbs, historical incidents, wars, and countless lesser-known facts. These elements greatly enhance both the beauty and educational value of the work.

The thorough preparation undertaken before the journey, their detailed knowledge of the destinations, arriving early at bus terminals, railway stations, and airports, carrying food supplies, and carefully observing local people and surroundings are all hallmarks of experienced travelers. Such qualities are clearly evident throughout the travelogue. This approach, especially when traveling abroad, minimizes stress and enables one to address potential problems before they become serious.

The authors vividly describe experiences aboard modern high-speed trains, buses, and ships, along with their journeys by taxi, their stays in hotels, and their visits to restaurants and cafés. These details significantly enrich the narrative.

Their practical advice about saving time and purchasing inexpensive tickets directly from Pakistan is likely to prove valuable for future travelers to Europe. Rivers, forests, plains, cities, and landscapes are portrayed with such vividness that readers may feel as though they themselves are wandering through those valleys.

One passage particularly touched me. Imagine a Sindhi couple traveling overnight by train between Spain and Portugal, with the wife telling stories to help her husband fall asleep. To me, this represents romance at its finest, a profound level of companionship, mutual respect, care, friendship, and harmony. Such a blessing has truly been bestowed upon this couple.

The travelogue provides detailed information about historical and modern sites, bridges, buildings, palaces, restaurants, cafeterias, coffee shops, beautiful parks, museums, archaeological sites, public squares, statues, famous boulevards, memorials, churches, renowned castles, mosques, monasteries, gates, valleys, rivers, and landscapes. Festivals, cultural traditions, customs, folk dances, music, and fairs are also described in detail, making the book both entertaining and educational.

The authors faithfully record many small but memorable incidents encountered during their travels. These include a McDonald’s employee in Madrid warning them about their purse, an English couple refusing to sit beside them in a cable car, attractive young women greeting them with roses, an African girl singing a Bollywood song on a train to attract attention, a ticket inspector pronouncing Córdoba as “Cardoba,” an argument among South Asians in a restaurant involving an energetic exchange of crockery, and a couple debating newspapers and knowledge. These observations are recorded with remarkable honesty and authenticity.

The story of the African girl singing an Indian song reminded me of an incident from my own life. During my university days in Stockholm, I had an Ethiopian classmate who would jokingly greet me with the famous Bollywood dialogue, “Kuch Kuch Hota Hai,” which never failed to make us laugh.

I have visited Spain several times, yet I have still not been to Madrid, Montserrat, Seville, or Toledo. Even when I visited Barcelona with my nephews, Moiz and Salar, some attractions remained unexplored. However, after reading this travelogue, I genuinely feel inspired to visit those places in the future, InshaAllah.

There is no doubt that Mr. Rafiuddin Junejo is fortunate to have a life partner with such a deep interest in and knowledge of history. That undoubtedly doubles the pleasure of traveling.

Mrs. Safia and Mr. Rafiuddin accurately observe that Pakistanis, Indians, and to some extent Bangladeshis living abroad often feel a natural closeness to one another. The book beautifully portrays nature’s splendor, including fields covered in sunflowers, groves of date palms, olive orchards, and orange plantations. The sensitivity with which Córdoba’s history is narrated is particularly commendable.

At Granada, they nearly missed visiting the Alhamra while searching for food, but fortunately, everything worked out. Based on my own experience, in such situations it is often wiser to grab a quick meal and continue walking to avoid unnecessary stress. Yet perhaps that is also part of the beauty of travel; sometimes one must rush to reach world-famous destinations, and perhaps even those moments contain hidden blessings.

The description of the Alhamra is exceptional. The stories about bumblebees, watering the gardens, throwing stones at pear trees, tales of snakes, honeybees, Moroccan mint tea, and gazing at the stars in a foreign land brought many of my own memories flooding back. Personally, I believe Granada is a city where one should spend several extra days.

Tourism experts often advise travelers to see as much of a region as possible while they are there. I noticed that Mr. Rafiuddin and Mrs. Safia followed this advice by visiting Andorra and then continuing onward to other destinations. Once one leaves a region, returning merely to see a few missed attractions can be difficult.

I felt this truth deeply while boarding a flight home from Sydney Airport. I remembered traveling through parts of Australia with my cousin Altaf. We had even considered visiting New Zealand, but ultimately did not go. Had we made a little extra effort, we might have explored that country as well. To this day, I do not know when fate will next provide such an opportunity.

The stories from Andorra make one feel that a longer stay there would have been worthwhile. Hearing about Sindhi business owners living there made my heart race with excitement. I wished I could have met them myself.

A friend of mine had a similar experience while visiting a Spanish island. He overheard people speaking Sindhi and struck up a conversation with them. One of them owned a restaurant, and throughout his stay, my friend ate there regularly. The Sindhi owners not only served what he ordered but also generously offered additional dishes out of hospitality.

Likewise, the warm hospitality shown to Mr. Rafiuddin and Mrs. Safia by a cook from Jhang, Punjab, in the beautiful Pyrenees-surrounded nation of Andorra, as well as their meeting with a sixty-year-old Sindhi woman originally from Sukkur-Shikarpur, transformed the journey into something unforgettable. Such encounters remain with travelers for a lifetime, often bringing a smile to their faces years later. Yet to experience such moments, one must first leave home and set out into the world.

Reading this travelogue also offers opportunities to better understand the poetry of Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai, Allama Iqbal, and several other poets whose verses appear throughout the book.

In my view, this work is far more than a travelogue. It is simultaneously a book of history, language, poetry, humor, advice, autobiography, travel memories from Pakistan and abroad, a tourist guide, and a moving account of the romance and companionship shared by a Sindhi couple.

It occupies a unique place in Sindhi literature. Readers can draw inspiration and motivation from it, witnessing how a husband and wife become true friends, travel across countries together, fulfill their dreams, and care for one another every step of the way.

It is a beautiful reminder that the greatest journeys are not merely about the places we visit, but about the people with whom we share the road.

Read: In Search of Sindhri Mangoes

_______________________

Abdullah Soomro, penname Abdullah Usman Morai, hailing from Moro town of Sindh, province of Pakistan, is based in Stockholm Sweden. Currently he is working as Groundwater Engineer in Stockholm Sweden. He did BE (Agriculture) from Sindh Agriculture University Tando Jam and MSc water systems technology from KTH Stockholm Sweden as well as MSc Management from Stockholm University. Beside this he also did masters in journalism and economics from Shah Abdul Latif University Khairpur Mirs, Sindh. He is author of a travelogue book named ‘Musafatoon’. His second book is in process. He writes articles from time to time. A frequent traveler, he also does podcast on YouTube with channel name: VASJE Podcast.

The post Sindhi Couple, Infinite Roads Ahead first appeared on Sindh Courier.

When we finally grant sadness

The permission to exist,

We also grant ourselves

The permission

To be fully human.

Nisar Banbhan, a seasoned poet and writer, based in Karachi, the capital city of Sindh shares his poetry 

Hailing from Village Mir Muhammad Banbhan, Taluka Mirwah, District Khiarpur and based in Karachi, the capital of Sindh, Nisar Banbhan is a seasoned professional with nearly 25 years of multifaceted experience, encompassing 3 years in journalism and over two decades of service in a public sector organization. His extensive expertise spans content creation, scriptwriting, screenwriting, lyrics, poetry, and storytelling across multiple languages, including Sindhi, Urdu, and English. Nisar has honed his skills in writing articles, columns, and short stories, contributing to various national and regional media outlets. Additionally, he brings a deep understanding of program development, educational advocacy, and strategic planning, having led initiatives that promote quality education and foster community empowerment. His passion for literature and education merges seamlessly, enabling him to craft impactful narratives that resonate with diverse audiences while driving meaningful change in society.

Permission to Be Sad

Sometimes, sorrow does not rise from within.

It falls from somewhere outside

Like a shattered piece of sky,

Breaking apart upon the floor of the heart,

Scattering its fragments across the quiet chambers of the soul.

You sit in silence,

Not because words have abandoned you,

But because you are weary

From the endless noise echoing inside your own being.

And then someone smiles and says:

“Don’t worry. Be positive. Everything will be fine.”

Strangely enough,

the world does not become lighter with those words.

Instead,

Another door quietly closes within you—

The one place

Where your grief might have rested its tired head.

It begins to feel

As though sadness itself is a transgression,

And smiling has become

The only acceptable language

Of being human.

We are living in an age

Where emotions are carefully arranged,

Like merchandise upon a brightly lit shelf:

Happiness here.

Success there.

And sadness

Please place it at the back,

Somewhere out of sight.

Yet no one pauses to ask:

What happens to a feeling

That is constantly pushed away?

Does it disappear?

Or does it remain,

Gathering weight in the dark,

Like rainwater trapped behind a forgotten wall?

Is sorrow considered unnecessary

Simply because it lacks beauty?

I often wonder

If human beings were made only of light,

Where would the shadows go?

And if there were no shadows,

How would light ever learn its own name?

For this is what it means to be human:

To crack like a fragile vessel.

To scatter like autumn leaves

Carried by an unseen wind.

To sit drenched

In the silent rain of one’s own thoughts.

Perhaps it was this very incompleteness of being

That Jaun Elia understood so deeply

When he wrote: “Desires have abandoned the company of my heart

And that suffering is a suffering beyond all suffering.”

These are not merely words.

They are the breath of a moment

When a person remains inside themselves,

Yet somehow becomes a stranger

To their own reflection.

And perhaps that is the real tragedy:

We have learned

To take away one another’s right to grieve.

We want everyone to appear whole,

Even while they are quietly breaking apart within.

But is being human

The same thing as always being okay?

If sorrow were allowed a language of its own,

If eyes were granted permission to become rivers,

If silence were allowed to live

Instead of being hurried toward an explanation,

Then perhaps we would understand one another

With greater honesty,

Greater tenderness,

Greater truth.

Because every feeling

Has a place in the architecture of the soul.

And sadness too

Is not a flaw to be hidden,

Nor a wound to be ashamed of.

It is a complete and sacred truth

Of being human.

A twilight that teaches us the meaning of dawn.

A shadow that reveals the shape of light.

A quiet season of the heart

Through which every soul must sometimes walk.

And perhaps,

When we finally grant sadness

The permission to exist,

We also grant ourselves

The permission

To be fully human.

***

In My Measure

After a long passage of years, she asked me,

“Where do you live these days?”

I smiled.

Then quietly searched through the pockets of my silence,

and replied,

“Oh… just within the limits of what I am.”

Within that small territory

where dreams walk barefoot,

careful not to wake reality;

where desires knock softly at the door

and return unanswered into the dusk;

and where the heart lives within itself

like an old tenant

occupying a forgotten room of memory.

She looked at me for a long while.

Her eyes…

two deep wells,

where one drowning soul

seemed to call out

to another already beneath the water.

And I knew that voice.

The same faint echo

I had heard years ago

inside a relationship

that lasted no longer than a moment.

A single moment

yet time wrapped it

in the shawl of centuries.

Now that moment rests upon my shoulders,

the way the dampness of rain-soaked clothes

clings stubbornly to the body

long after the storm has passed.

I have cared for my wounds

with an almost tender devotion.

Yes, exactly the way mothers

rock weeping children in the late hours of night,

patting their small foreheads

until sleep gently gathers them into its arms.

I do the same.

I place my palm

upon the brow of my sorrows

and sing them quiet lullabies:

“Hush now…

Go to sleep.

You have made enough noise.

You have stayed awake long enough.”

And then,

each night,

I rest my head

upon the pillow of prayer

and ask for only one thing:

My Lord…

If these wounds of my heart

have finally fallen asleep,

then grant them this mercy

never let them awaken again.

For some pains,

like ancient birds,

always know the way back home.

And some scars

are merely sleeping rivers,

waiting beneath the earth

for the season of rain.

So I pray

that the silence remains unbroken,

that the night keeps its gentle promise,

and that the dreams buried beneath my ribs

continue sleeping

like children held safely

in the lap of eternity.

_________________ 

Read: Footprints We Never Meant to Leave

The post Poetry: Permission to Be Sad first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Ambassador M. Alam Brohi

Karo Kari reflects a deep-rooted tribal system where honour-based violence, weak legal enforcement, and social norms override women’s rights, leading to systemic injustice and insecurity for women in society

The Sindhi words ‘Karo Kari’ literally mean blackened, stained, disgraced, and are used to describe a man (Karo) and woman (Kari) involved in courtship, sexual relationship, elopement, and even free-will marriage or matrimony without the consent of parents. Such a daring act by a woman triggers enmity. The girl’s family solicits the help of the police and judiciary, claiming inducement, kidnap, or forcible marriage, or disputing her age. They also seek the intercession of the influential persons of the tribe of the man involved for the return of the girl so that they have the convenience to marry her off in a far-flung region or to kill her.

The Hindus of Sindh dispute the age of their girls who convert to Islam and contract marriage with Muslim men. A Sindhi spiritual and political leader, Mian Mithoo from Ghotki Tehsil, has rightly or wrongly earned notoriety for such marriages. Hindu girls often convert to Islam at the Dargah. Mian Mithoo has represented his area in the National Assembly as an MNA of the Pakistan People’s Party for a couple of terms when the party was led by Mohtarma Benazir Bhutto, and he was not so controversial. After the frequency of such conversions of Hindu girls increased, the current PPP leaders kept Mian Mithoo at bay.

The tribal traditions, which unfortunately take precedence over religious edicts and civil and criminal laws, recognize any of the above social indiscretions as a disgraceful breach of the honour of the family of the woman, and an unforgivable crime. In the tribal way of life, this so-called crime renders her and her partner liable for elimination to vindicate the honor of the family. The man is equally punishable for his audacious indulgence in tarnishing the honor of the family of his female partner. These murders are appreciated as part of an honorable way of living in the tribe.

The Karo Kari or Honor Killing is not a new phenomenon. This inhuman tribal practice has been in existence for centuries and is traced back to the outmoded patriarchal societies, which considered women as living objects to satisfy the sexual needs of their husbands, bear children, and look after the house. They were traded in exchange for money, land or animals or in retribution to settle an old enmity. They were not allowed to have social, economic and legal rights as known in modern constitutional, democratic and liberal societies. They had no say in their matrimonial matches, no legal right to inheritance, and no social status.

Islam has placed greater emphasis on the rights of women. It made the consent of the woman mandatory for marriage, entitled her to dowry, and a fixed share of inheritance from her parents’ movable and immovable properties, and made her the sole heir to her husband’s possessions. These Islamic edicts raised the status of women in society. However, tribal traditions survived the changes that the religious beliefs, moral philosophies, and modern civil and criminal laws sought to enforce gender parity and human rights.

The flourishing of tribal societies owes a great deal to factors such as the lack of education; social and economic reforms; the concentration of agricultural lands in few hands; the economic dependency of women; the joint family system; the influence of tribal chiefs given their social, economic and political power; the corruption within the police, and faulty investigation; the exploitation of the loopholes in our prosecution system to manage relatively lighter punishments for the perpetrators of the crime; the Jirga intercessions, and above all, the absence of legal and constitutional awareness in society, and the weak civil societies; the heightened sense of vanity and honour of fathers, brothers, uncles in outdated tribal societies to punish a female member who dares to defy their authority.

This egotistical pride is sometimes accentuated by taunts of relatives, neighbours, and tribal fellows after the elopement of a girl. Human beings are inhuman by nature. All religious edicts and moral philosophies tend to tame human arrogance, pride, ego, vanity, their sense of vengeance, and vindictiveness. In developed societies, these base human traits have been tamed by the dissemination of education, the promotion of social norms, and consciousness about women’s legal and constitutional rights through constitutional and democratic governance.

In those societies, the prosecution and judiciary work hand in hand to deliver cheap and quick justice against any excess. Sometimes, human jealousies triggered by the unfaithfulness of women do result in heinous crimes. But these crimes are not as frequent and extensive as in our society. Our girls really live under insecurity and fear. The Western state takes it as its responsibility to provide social and economic security to its citizens. These societies do not know of tribes herded by tribal chiefs, Jirga courts manned by mini tribal chiefs, or area landlords to give arbitrary decisions which solely depend on the willingness or the goodwill of the parties involved for implementation.

The tribal intercession or Jirga decisions sometimes result in equally condemnable acts of criminality, such as the sanctioning, in retribution, of the marriage of minor girls to men from the so-called aggrieved party, or ordering rape or disgrace of the women of aggressors in full view of the crowd gathered there. These decisions leave a festering wound in the families, instigating them to seek vengeance.

A professor with a PhD in Computer Science from France, Ajmal Sawand, originally from Kandhkot, leaves his well-paid job in Paris and returns to IBA Sukkur to teach the children of his land, Sindh. He is ruthlessly killed by members of the rival tribe to avenge an old murder committed by the people of the Sawand tribe, with whom this educationist had no connection. His crime was to be from the Sawand tribe.

The crimes against our innocent daughters are hair-raising and shameful. Some years back, probably in 2011–2012, four girls of a tribe in Nasirabad district were buried alive. We heard the echo of this inhuman act in the National Assembly also. In those years, another event in Khairpur district was more heart-rending. Ferocious hounds were set after a girl who was running and beseeching for her life. She was caught and torn into pieces by the hounds.

Recently, two girls from the Chandio tribe were killed and buried in shallow graves. Disgraceful and shameful, really. The state should fulfil its responsibility to provide security to its citizens.

Read: Karachi: Federalization Is No Solution

_____________________

Based in Karachi, the author is a former member of the Foreign Service of Pakistan and has served as Ambassador for seven years

First published in The Friday Times Lahore

The post The Deadly Cost Of So-called ‘Honor’ first appeared on Sindh Courier.

• As a New Spiritual Era Begins, Calls Grow for Greater Inclusion of Marginalized Hindu Communities in Welfare and Development Programs

Lalchand Motwani

Daharki:

The controversy-ridden process of selecting the eighth spiritual head (Gadi Nashin) of the renowned Sindhi Hindu shrine SSD Dham (Sacho Satram Dham) has finally come to an end. Prince Rohit Lal, belonging to the third generation of descendants of Mata Hari Bai, daughter of Saein Satram Das, was formally invested with the ceremonial turban and declared the eighth Gadi Nashin.

The newly appointed eighth Gadi Nashin, 32-year-old Saein Rohit Lal, is the son of the recently departed seventh Gadi Nashin, Saein Sadh Ram. He was born in Raharki on 11 November 1994 and holds a Bachelor’s degree in Business. Earlier this year, on 19 February 2026, Saein Sadh Ram arranged his marriage into the family of Diwan Darshan Lal of Kashmore.

Saein Vikram Lal (Raja Saein), son of the sixth Gadi Nashin Saein Kaniya Lal, who has been actively involved in the service of the shrine, wished his adopted son Rochit Lal, son of Bali Ram, to become the eighth Gadi Nashin. However, due to the strong desire and insistence of the devotees, Prince Rohit Lal, the son of the seventh Gadi Nashin, was selected. Nevertheless, Rochit Lal has also been accommodated with a respected role in the service and administration of the Daharki Dham.

It is noteworthy that after the martyrdom of Bhagat Kanwar Ram, the spiritual succession returned to the descendants of Hari Bai, daughter of Saein Satram Das. The fourth, fifth and sixth Gadi Nashins, namely Saein Chandi Ram, Saein Bhagwan Das, and Saein Kaniya Lal, were sons of Mata Hari Bai wife of Kirshan Das of Jarwar. Thus, the exemplary tradition initiated by Saein Satram Das of appointing the most capable and deserving disciple as successor gradually came to an end, and the shrine has since remained under hereditary maternal family succession through his descendants.

According to many observers, family disputes surrounding the succession have largely been fueled by the shrine’s substantial income and assets, as well as the practice of multiple marriages among some Gadi Nashins, similar to certain feudal and spiritual families in Sindh. Saein Satram Das had two wives, Saein Chandi Ram two, Saein Bhagwan Das three, Saein Kaniya Lal one, and Saein Sadh Ram one. These disputes are often linked to inheritance and representation issues arising from large extended families and multiple branches of descendants, making them difficult to resolve permanently.

Sindhi intellectuals and many socially conscious members of the Hindu community have also raised concerns that despite possessing considerable wealth and resources, the shrine has not adequately extended welfare and development programs to some of the most marginalized Hindu communities, including the Meghwar, Bheel, Kolhi, and Bagri communities. Critics argue that the institution should follow the example of Bhagat Kanwar Ram, who was known for treating all people equally and extending support to the needy without discrimination.

There is hope among devotees and social observers that the newly elected Gadi Nashin, Saein Rohit Lal, will expand the educational and healthcare initiatives already started by SSD Dham and ensure that these benefits reach underprivileged communities without distinction. Many also expect him to uphold the humanitarian legacy of Bhagat Kanwar Ram by ensuring that donations and resources are directed toward those genuinely in need.

Read: A Believer in Love Beyond Religion

___________________

The post New leader ends long succession fight first appeared on Sindh Courier.

My friend is that sanctuary and altar, I bear in mind,

Be that seagull conveying love and laughter…

Mr. Ahmed Farooq Baidoon, based in northern Egypt, Damietta, is a poet, novelist and critic. His avant-garde literary oeuvre was written in Arabic; namely, a collection of short stories, entitled: ‘A Human being but…?’, ‘Snippets Tinged with Savory of Oneself’, ‘Altar of Imagination’, more and above, regarding the release of poetic Arabic diwans titled: ‘Give me some slack’ & ‘Humanity Shortcomings’, alongside with two novel outputs. Besides, some literary translation works to build up a cultural cauldron with counterparts worldwide. Worthy mentioning the repertoire of English poetic sharing and epistolary anthologies through social media platforms and magazines.

The Mast of Friendship

A true friend, that crutch of hope to lean on,

A companion in time of hardships when no sun shone,

That basking gleam of spiritual raft,

An abrupt buoy to safety to confront mighty vicious draft,

Let alone a chariot to cross your falls and dismay,

Let alone a gallant fighter hand in hand for victorious foray,

Let him be a paragon of altruism, generosity and happiness,

Let’ m be an ideal of giving, integrity and longing,

Never let me down, keen on me,

Days tethered us, attached like binary lobes, jocund of glee,

In dire tribulation, who else I shall find?

My friend is that sanctuary and altar, I bear in mind,

Be that seagull conveying love and laughter,

Be that prophetic salvation purifying grudge and cruelty with banter.

***

Crafted By Lenience

Let go that stubborn cloud,

Imbued by wrath and acting out loud,

Race your moon shone beyond the shroud.

Loose lips might lead to an irrevocable gate,

Your filament cleft asunder by dint of a stuffed slate,

It serves you right to meet such a fate.

Wonders never cease when seasons mingle,

Never swallow your pride but keen on swindle,

Nothingness you’re in face of Beowulf’s Grindel.

A perennial shape of a clown tempered with waning,

A merciless being with outrageous fanning,

Wandering and fluttering with credulous planning.

What if you were an epitome of compassion,

A tribune of wisdom with a consolidating fashion,

If only the mast of friendship sailed across impassion.

Rise and shine, ye infinitesimal divine masterpiece,

Before abysmal failure of the grinding gyre without grease,

It draws near —verily good deeds shall attain paradise lease.

__________________ 

Read: Eastern woman – Poetry from Egypt

The post The Mast of Friendship – Egyptian Poetry first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Sohail Ahmed

This article explores decentralized disability rehabilitation in Sindh with a focus on the Department of Empowerment of Persons with Disabilities (DEPD) and its collaboration with the Society for Research and Human Development (SRHD). Since the 18th Constitutional Amendment, DEPD has been tasked to implement the Sindh Empowerment of Persons with Disabilities Act 2018 and extend rehabilitation activities throughout the province. Decentralization was identified as an important policy measure for tackling disability inequalities, especially in rural areas where rehabilitation facilities were still concentrated in urban areas. Disability must be recognized beyond the biomedical perspective. It is also influenced by poverty, infrastructure, and the burden of caring and institutional accessibility.

Access to rehabilitation centers and economic factors have been barriers to the seamless access to treatment and sustainable recovery in rural areas of Sindh. This meant that many families had to postpone therapies or stop getting involved in rehabilitation altogether because of the cost of transport and poor institutional outreach. In the context of this, DEPD and SRHD set up a decentralized Rehabilitation Centre in Kot Banglow, Kot Diji Tehsil, and District Khairpur. The center offers physiotherapy, speech therapy, occupational therapy and behavioral therapy. Decentralization has been observed to enhance the accessibility, minimize the cost and boost the confidence of community in rehabilitation systems. “Previously we had to travel to Karachi or Hyderabad for therapies, now the center is close to our area and our child gets his therapy regularly” said one caregiver while the other highlighted it as a “hope for the hopeless” because of the reduced transport costs and improved continuity of care. In the following narratives, it is demonstrated that decentralization is anything but an administrative reform. It also changes the way rural communities live accessibility and institutional care. But from the field, it is also noted that rehabilitation is still constrained by the absence of prostheses and orthotics. Another therapist commented: “Rehabilitation does not end with improving movement and muscle strength, but also involves orthotic devices and most families cannot access those on their own and are reliant on government funding via DEPD.” The observations suggest that functional independence cannot be achieved without interventions that support mobility when using only therapy.

The impact of this institutional deficiency can be seen in everyday life. A 26-year-old laborer who worked at a local hotel on a daily basis, earning between 600 and 700 rupees, said that five years ago he suffered a serious injury on his foot, with a road accident. Due to financial hardship, he could not continue medical treatment. This resulted in his foot being permanently misshapen and affected his movement. His injured foot is smaller now and not working properly, he explained. He is now looking for a prosthesis that will help him function and earn a living to feed his family. Right now he is looking for a prosthesis that will allow him to move about and support his family. Here is one example of how economic problems can lead to treatable injuries becoming chronic disabilities, where it is no longer possible to provide the support for rehabilitation. SRHD undertook a baseline survey to identify about 700 persons with impairments in surrounding communities and meet their rehabilitation needs. In response to this, over 91 children are currently being provided with structured rehabilitation. Approximately 200 people have been identified for interventions that will improve their posture, alignment, and functional mobility. More than 290 individuals are also being evaluated for a prosthetic intervention that will restore movement and functional independence. Additionally, 230 persons have been assisted in access to Special CNIC documents to enhance access to legal identity, social protection and state entitlements. These interventions showcase the possibilities of a decentralized rehabilitation systems that combine community-based identification, rehabilitation, mobility support and social inclusion. However, although the country has progressed in this field, the issue of prosthetic and orthotic provision is still a great challenge for rural Sindh. For most low-income households, private interventions to support mobility are still unaffordable. So, a great number of families rely on state funded rehabilitation systems. Enhancing the institutional capacity of DEPD is therefore crucial in order to bring from therapy to independence and sustainable rehabilitation. In summary, the DEPD–SRHD project has proved to be very effective in enhancing accessibility and continuity of rehabilitation and institutional trust in rural areas of Sindh. Meanwhile, the results also point to the need for rehabilitation to go beyond therapy. Through a fully effective decentralized model it is necessary to have integrated prosthetic and orthotic support systems, as well as community-based rehabilitation systems. These interventions are vital to the functional mobility, dignity and social inclusion of persons with disabilities.

Read: Our Failure To Address Autism

_____________________

The author is an M.Phil. Student at the Department of Anthropology, Quaid-i-Azam University Islamabad. His research interests include medical anthropology, disability studies, and community-based rehabilitation in Sindh, Pakistan. He currently serves as Manager at the SRHD–DEPD Rehabilitation Centre under the Society for Research and Human Development (SRHD).  Contact: sohailwassan11@gmail.com

The post Bridging gaps in rural prosthetic services first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Souad Khalil | Libya

The Governorate of Dhofar is preparing to host the first edition of the Ofeer International Theatre Nights Festival, which will take place from June 7 to June 12 at the Sultan Qaboos Youth Complex for Culture and Entertainment, under the patronage of His Highness Sayyid Marwan bin Turki Al Said, Governor of Dhofar. Organized by the Ofeer Theatre Troupe, the festival is expected to be a major artistic and cultural event, bringing together prominent Arab and international theatre practitioners in a celebration of creativity and intercultural dialogue through the performing arts.

The organization of this event confirms the growing cultural significance of Dhofar, as the festival aims to become a platform for the exchange of artistic experiences and creative visions. It highlights theatre as an art form capable of transcending geographical and cultural boundaries while fostering communication and understanding among peoples.

The first edition will feature nine theatrical productions representing diverse countries and artistic approaches: Bayn Bayn from Jordan, Layla and the Bear Qays from Saudi Arabia, Haunted Voice and The Story of the Stations from Oman, The Pilgrimage from South Africa, Bipolar Delirium from Tunisia, Evening Yawns from the United Arab Emirates, Salma from Iraq, and Hot Coffee from Bahrain.

As part of the ongoing preparations for the festival’s opening, the organizing committee has announced the composition of the jury for the inaugural edition. Professor Dr. Thamer Al-Arabid of the Syrian Arab Republic has been appointed President of the Jury in recognition of his distinguished artistic and academic career, as well as his significant contributions to theatre, criticism, and academic training.

The jury also includes Dr. Shabir Al-Ajmi from the Sultanate of Oman and Professor Amani Mabrouki from the Republic of Tunisia, forming a panel that combines academic expertise with diverse artistic perspectives. This reflects the Arab identity and cultural openness that the festival seeks to promote.

This selection aligns with the festival’s vision of establishing itself as a theatrical and cultural platform that brings together artists and creators from different countries under the motto of its first edition:

“Where the Stories of the World Are Woven”

A slogan that highlights theatre’s unique ability to embrace human stories and transform them into a universal artistic language that transcends borders and cultures.

A festival jury is not merely a body responsible for awarding prizes; it is also a reflection of the aesthetic and cultural vision embraced by the festival. Therefore, the selection of these distinguished figures from the Arab theatre scene demonstrates the organizers’ commitment to artistic excellence and to ensuring an objective and professional evaluation of the participating productions, granting this inaugural edition a level of prestige worthy of its cultural and artistic ambitions.

Read: Sindh Courier partners Omani Theatre Festival

__________________

Souad Khalil, hailing from Benghazi Libya, is a writer, poet, and translator. She has been writing on culture, literature and other general topics.

The post Nine Nations Join Dhofar Theatre Festival first appeared on Sindh Courier.

By Abdullah Usman Morai | Sweden

The last week of May 2026 was unusually hot in England. An exceptional and intense heatwave had swept across the country, with temperatures in London, Milton Keynes, and the surrounding areas reaching nearly 34°C. Having spent eighteen years in the cool climate of Sweden, I found this heat completely unexpected, intense, and somewhat overwhelming.

To escape the scorching weather, it became necessary to take a shower four or five times a day. The heat reminded me of my hometown, Moro, where such temperatures are part of daily life and summer is not merely a season but an integral part of existence itself. Memories of Nangar Nawal’s cool thadhal shade came flooding back, along with the refreshing glasses of chilled milk malai served by Haji Nawal.

Only a few days remained before Eid al-Azha. The atmosphere was filled with excitement and anticipation. Conversations with family members revolved around Eid preparations, special foods, and nostalgic memories of home. During these discussions, one particular topic kept resurfacing, awakening in all of us a strong desire to eat Sindhri mangoes.

On the weekend, we decided to take a trip to Luton. The town is home to many South Asian stores, and we hoped that perhaps the season’s first Sindhri mangoes had arrived there. Accompanying me on this journey were Bhao Dr. Mushtaq, Adi Sakina, Dr. Saleem, and Moiz.

The Journey from Milton Keynes to Luton

We set off from Milton Keynes. The journey to Luton is not particularly long and normally takes around half an hour, although weekend traffic made the trip somewhat slower.

As we drew closer to Luton, the surroundings began to feel strangely familiar. When we finally arrived, it felt as though we had left England and entered a completely different South Asian country.

Luton is an interesting English town. Once famous for its hat-making industry, it later became a major center for automobile manufacturing. Today, it is also well known because of London Luton Airport, through which millions of travelers pass on their way to destinations across the world.

Yet, more than the town’s history, it was its people who fascinated me.

A Small Subcontinent and a Touch of Africa

Walking through Luton felt as though I had entered a miniature version of the Indian subcontinent. I could easily describe the city as a “Mini Subcontinent” blended beautifully with a touch of Africa.

Wherever I looked, I saw South Asians, Pakistanis, Sri Lankans, Nepalese, Indians, and Bangladeshis, living their lives alongside vibrant African communities.

South Asian grocery stores, modern halal butcher shops, sweet shops, restaurants, tea houses, and businesses of every size all evoked memories of the subcontinent.

The Search for Sindhri Mangoes

However, our real objective was to find Sindhri mangoes.

The pride of Sindh, the Sindhri mango is rightfully known as the “King and Prince of Mangoes.” In my opinion, it is among the finest mango varieties in the world.

Sindhri mangoes are primarily grown in Mirpurkhas, Tando Allahyar, and the surrounding regions of Sindh. Their distinctive elongated shape, impressive size, bright golden-yellow color, and fiberless, exceptionally sweet, aromatic flesh have made them famous around the globe.

For Sindhi and Pakistani people living abroad, Sindhri mangoes are much more than a fruit. They are a fragrant memory of home, carrying with them the breeze and spirit of one’s homeland.

We visited numerous grocery stores and fruit markets. Everywhere we looked, there were piles of mangoes from India, Africa, and other countries, but the Sindhri mangoes had not yet arrived.

Whenever we asked a shopkeeper about them, a smile would appear on their face, and the answer was always the same:

“They’ll arrive in June.”

“Just wait a few more days.”

We could have bought other varieties of mangoes and enjoyed them, but we decided to wait. Some things are worth anticipating. Sometimes pleasure lies not only in enjoying something but also in waiting for its arrival.

Familiar Scenes, South Asian Culture, and the Colors of the Market

Luton’s commercial center is deeply infused with South Asian character. Many of its streets reminded me of scenes from back home.

Street vendors had set up stalls along the roadsides. Small traders were selling their goods. Crowds moved through the streets while the aromas of spices and freshly prepared food filled the air.

At sweet shops such as Nirala Mithai and others like it, colorful sweets were beautifully displayed behind glass counters. Jalebi, laddoon, barfi, rasgulla, gulab jamun, kulfi, falooda, samosas, pakoras, papri, chaat, and countless other delicacies were readily available.

Even the shop signs carried a distinctly South Asian appearance. Looking at many of them, one could easily forget that they were in England.

People of South Asian origin also appeared to have a significant presence in local politics. Considering the city’s demographic composition, this seemed entirely natural.

Instead of Mangoes, We Found an Unexpected and Beautiful Truth

Although we did not find Sindhri mangoes, we discovered something else, something perhaps even more valuable.

Luton offered a beautiful example of human tolerance and peaceful coexistence within a living, breathing representation of the subcontinent.

People from various South Asian countries, together with individuals from many other parts of the world, lived side by side with mutual respect. Everywhere we looked, people treated one another with dignity. We saw no signs of hatred.

Children played together. Families shopped together. Business partners ran stores together.

For a moment, a thought crossed my mind: Perhaps ordinary people never truly desire hatred.

People everywhere share similar aspirations. They seek peace, dignity, employment, security, and a better future for their families.

Yet politicians across the subcontinent often trap people into webs of hostility for their own interests. Many differences are amplified by political rhetoric and historical disputes, while ordinary people generally prefer peaceful coexistence.

If left to themselves, many would choose harmony and brotherhood over conflict.

Another observation was that although Luton possesses the energy and atmosphere of a South Asian town, it is noticeably cleaner than many cities in our region.

Roadside stalls operate in a distinctly South Asian fashion, yet within an environment shaped by Western organization and discipline. The result is a fascinating blend of two worlds.

An Elderly Man and a Guitar: A Sad Moment

On our return journey, one scene from the day remained deeply etched in my memory.

It was a scene that filled me with sadness.

On a sidewalk sat an elderly man, probably in his eighties, selling a few personal belongings and household items. Among them was an old guitar.

I do not know why he was selling his possessions. Perhaps he needed money. Perhaps he was clearing up his home. Perhaps there was another reason entirely.

But the sadness and helplessness on his face were unmistakable.

Perhaps life had forced him to part with something he deeply loved.

I looked at the guitar and thought about how musical instruments are never merely wood and strings. They carry memories. They hold dreams. They contain years of a person’s life.

It was painful to witness.

That elderly man was not simply selling a guitar. Perhaps he was selling the music of his life, his memories, and a lifelong passion.

Sometimes life becomes so harsh that it compels people not only to sell their possessions but also to surrender their passions, dreams, and deepest emotional attachments. At times, people are forced to part with the very activities that nourish their souls.

Watching that elderly man struggle during this stage of his life was heartbreaking.

We continued our way, but the image remained with me.

In essence, the purpose of sharing this story is simple.

That day, we left Milton Keynes in search of Sindh’s beloved Sindhri mangoes. Yet the journey became far more than a search for fruit.

We did not find the mangoes, but we found a miniature subcontinent.

We found shades of Africa. We rediscovered memories of home.

We witnessed the beautiful coexistence of people from different nations, languages, cultures, and religions.

We found evidence that people from diverse backgrounds can live together peacefully.

We learned a lesson about life’s hardships through the silent eyes of an elderly man.

The Sindhri mangoes would likely arrive a few days later, but the sweetness that this journey provided was greater than the sweetness of any mango.

Sometimes the true purpose of travel is not the destination itself, but the people, scenes, emotions, and lessons encountered along the way.

We returned carrying an unforgettable lesson about peace, love, human solidarity, and the bittersweet realities of life, a lesson that became permanently etched in our hearts during that unusually hot English summer.

Read: Echo of Sindh in Kenyan Affections

____________________

Abdullah Soomro, penname Abdullah Usman Morai, hailing from Moro town of Sindh, province of Pakistan, is based in Stockholm Sweden. Currently he is working as Groundwater Engineer in Stockholm Sweden. He did BE (Agriculture) from Sindh Agriculture University Tando Jam and MSc water systems technology from KTH Stockholm Sweden as well as MSc Management from Stockholm University. Beside this he also did masters in journalism and economics from Shah Abdul Latif University Khairpur Mirs, Sindh. He is author of a travelogue book named ‘Musafatoon’. His second book is in process. He writes articles from time to time. A frequent traveler, he also does podcast on YouTube with channel name: VASJE Podcast.

The post In Search of Sindhri Mangoes first appeared on Sindh Courier.

By: Raphic Burdo

Once upon there was Karachi, a city called ‘city of lights’, ‘a jewel in the British crown of Queen Victoria, on whose empire never set. At the edge of this city’s harbour, where the Arabian Sea exhales its salt-laden breath onto stone and steel, there stood tall, with all its grace and magnificence, the Mules Mansion. The city has withered, has lost its shine and shimmer. Its beaches are more known for fishing than beach games, bars and music. The way Karachi limps on, so does the Mules Mansion. Karachi and Mules Mansion reflect each other’s image and tell each other’s story.

Mules Mansion stands not merely as a building but as a survivor. Its weathered façade rises above a landscape that appears determined to erase the very idea of beauty, elegance and grace. Around it swarm container trucks, oil tankers, handcarts, and motorcycles. All emitting smoke like chimneys. The air vibrates with horns, engines, and the metallic groan of commerce. Nearby lie heaps of garbage left to ferment beneath the tropical sun. Walls are stained by graffiti that unworthy of the walls if a great city. Oil slicks shimmer upon stagnant water. Nearby water bodies and mangroves smell no better than cesspools.  Drug addicts, paan chewing loafers, and weed paddlers wander through neglected streets of famed Jackson Market and around. Informal settlements crowd against decaying infrastructure. Dust and soot settle upon every surface human and non-human.

Yet amid this disorder, Mules Mansion retains extraordinary dignity. Like an ageing aristocrat who has outlived both fortune and family, it stands elegantly dressed in the fading garments of another age. Its stone arches still frame the sky with grace. Its balconies still face the sea. Its proportions still reveal a belief that architecture should elevate the human spirit rather than merely shelter human activity.

One cannot look at Mules Mansion without sensing that it has become more than a building. It has become a question: what happened to the city that built this? And perhaps more importantly: what happened to the society that stopped caring for it? These questions are not really about architecture. These are questions about memory, governance, public policy, culture, society and civilization itself. For buildings are never merely buildings. They are frozen expressions of what a society values. They are policy cast into stone. They are philosophy translated into public space. And when they decay, they reveal far more than cracks in masonry. In fact, they reveal cracks in the collective priorities.

Mules Mansion has watched more than a century unfold before its arches and windows. It has witnessed ships arriving from Bombay, Basra, Zanzibar, London, Muscat, and Singapore. It has watched sailors descend gangways carrying stories from distant worlds. It has observed merchants negotiating fortunes, migrants seeking futures, soldiers marching toward wars, and laborers carrying the burden of empire upon their shoulders.

Very few structures in Karachi occupy such a privileged position within the city’s historical imagination. Standing near Karachi Port, it has occupied a front-row seat to one of South Asia’s most fascinating urban transformations. Before Karachi became Pakistan’s largest metropolis, before it became a megacity of more than twenty million people, before it became synonymous with traffic congestion and unplanned expansion, it was a coastal town of modest scale and remarkable openness. The harbour was its heart. The sea was its horizon. Trade was its bloodstream. And Mules Mansion stood near that beating heart.

Whether you agree or not, buildings possess memories.  Not in the manner of human beings, but they remember through endurance. Each layer of paint, each repaired crack, each scar left by weather, or conflict, becomes part of an accumulated narrative. Buildings become archives that cannot be shelved inside libraries. The historian reads documents. The architect reads structures. The citizen reads neither and yet feels both. Mules Mansion is therefore not simply an object of heritage. It is a repository of urban memory.

A city remembers through its streets, parks, monuments, public squares, libraries, theatres, markets, and buildings. When these disappear, memory itself becomes fragmented. The result is not merely physical loss. It is cultural amnesia.

There was a time when Karachi was celebrated as one of Asia’s most cosmopolitan cities. The phrase “City of Lights” was not merely a slogan. It reflected an urban culture distinguished by openness, aspiration, and confidence. The Karachi of the early twentieth century was a city of merchants, sailors, financiers, civil servants, industrialists, dockworkers, teachers, artists, and migrants. Its population included Sindhis, Balochs, Parsis, Hindus, Muslims, and Christians, Jews, Goans, Armenians, Gujaratis, Memons, and many others. Languages overlapped. Cultures intersected. Ideas travelled.

The port connected Karachi not only to trade routes but also to intellectual and cultural currents. This cosmopolitanism was not accidental. Ports have always produced openness. Cities connected to oceans learn early that diversity is not a threat but a necessity. Trade requires trust. Trust requires coexistence. Coexistence generates culture. And culture produces confidence. Mules Mansion emerged from that confidence.

The builders of Mules Mansion were not constructing a structure merely to fulfil a functional requirement. They were participating in the creation of a city. This distinction matters.

Modern development often concerns itself with outputs: roads built, housing units delivered, kilometers paved, square feet constructed. Civilizations concern themselves with meaning. A city becomes memorable not because of the quantity of concrete it consumes but because of the quality of life it creates. Paris, Istanbul, Rome, Kyoto, Prague, Isfahan, and Samarkand are not admired because they built the most structures. They are admired because they built identities. Identity is the invisible infrastructure of civilization. And heritage buildings are among its most visible manifestations.

One of the great tragedies of the modern world is that development is increasingly measured through indicators that are easier to count than to understand. Governments celebrate GDP growth. Administrations report kilometers of roads. Planning agencies publish statistics about housing, transport, and investment. Of course, all of these matter but they do not tell the whole story.

A society may become wealthier while becoming culturally poorer. A city may become larger while becoming less livable. An economy may expand while public beauty contracts. Development, when reduced to economics alone, becomes incomplete. Renowned English intellectual and writer of “Culture and Anarchy”, Matthew Arnold warned against precisely this tendency in the nineteenth century. He observed the enormous material achievements of industrial society while simultaneously recognizing the dangers of spiritual and cultural impoverishment. For Arnold, culture represented a counterbalance to narrow self-interest. It represented humanity’s pursuit of excellence, harmony, and collective refinement. His concerns remain surprisingly relevant.

What happens when societies become preoccupied with economic growth but neglect cultural inheritance? What happens when budgets allocate billions for infrastructure but little for restoration? What happens when heritage is viewed as a luxury rather than a public asset? The answer can be seen in many postcolonial cities. Historic districts have been allowed to crumble. Public spaces led to deterioration. Architectural treasures designed to vanish. And yet development reports continue to celebrate progress. Mules Mansion challenges this logic. It asks whether a city can truly be called developed while allowing its historical memory to decay.

Heritage preservation is often misunderstood. Many policymakers treat it as a niche concern. Or consider it as an issue for historians. An interest of architects. A hobby for cultural enthusiasts. This view is profoundly mistaken. Heritage preservation is fundamentally a public policy issue. It intersects with tourism, education, urban planning, economic development, civic identity, environmental sustainability, and social cohesion. Cities that preserve heritage generate economic value. Visitors travel to experience authenticity. Creative industries flourish around cultural assets. Property values often increase. Public spaces become more attractive. Investment follows quality. Yet the strongest argument for preservation remains neither economic nor aesthetic. It is, for all practical purposes, civic.

Heritage provides continuity. It allows citizens to understand themselves as participants in a longer story. Without continuity, societies become vulnerable to fragmentation. People cease to feel connected to place. Neighborhoods lose meaning. Public life weakens. Citizens become consumers of urban space rather than custodians of it. The preservation of Mules Mansion is therefore not simply about saving a building. It is about preserving a relationship between Karachi and itself.

Every city is ultimately a physical expression of governance. Roads reveal priorities. Parks reveal priorities. Libraries reveal priorities. Schools reveal priorities. And neglected buildings reveal priorities as well. Urban landscapes are policy documents written in concrete, steel, stone, and asphalt. When one examines the surroundings of Mules Mansion today, uncomfortable questions emerge: how does a structure of such significance come to exist amid such neglect? Why do areas of immense economic importance often suffer from environmental degradation? Why are heritage districts frequently treated as afterthoughts? Why does restoration remain episodic rather than systematic? The answers lie not in a single institution but within broader systems of governance.

Fragmented authority. Weak enforcement. Inadequate maintenance. Short political time horizons. Insufficient coordination. Competing priorities. All contribute to urban decline. Yet governance failure should not be interpreted solely as administrative incompetence. Often it reflects something deeper. A failure of imagination. Great cities are built not merely through engineering but through vision. Vision requires asking what kind of city future generations should inherit. Management concerns today’s problems. Statesmanship concerns tomorrow’s inheritance. The difference is enormous.

Human beings are uniquely aware of mortality. We know we will die. Perhaps this awareness explains our desire to build. Buildings become extensions of memory. They allow individuals and societies to leave traces behind. A monument says: we were here. A library says: we learned here. A university says: we thought here. A heritage building says: we lived here. The destruction of such places therefore carries emotional weight beyond their material value. Something intangible disappears. A thread connecting generations is severed. Mules Mansion embodies this tension between permanence and impermanence. For more than a century it has resisted weather, politics, economic upheaval, demographic transformation, and urban chaos. Yet even stone has limits. No building lives forever.

The question is not whether buildings die. The question is how they die. Some perish through natural ageing. Others through disaster. Still others through neglect. Neglect is perhaps the saddest form of death because it is preventable. It reflects not inevitability but indifference. And indifference is a moral choice.

Modern governments devote considerable attention to the future. Economic growth. Technological advancement. Infrastructure expansion. Digital transformation. These are necessary pursuits. But governments also possess obligations to the past. Not because the past is sacred. Not because history should be frozen. But because continuity matters.

Nations are conversations across generations. The dead contribute to those conversations through institutions, traditions, ideas, and physical structures. The living inherit them. Future generations will inherit whatever remains. Public policy therefore operates simultaneously across three dimensions of time. It must serve present needs. It must prepare for future challenges. And it must steward inherited assets.

A government that ignores the future is irresponsible. A government that ignores the past is equally shortsighted. Heritage preservation is not nostalgia. It is stewardship. The distinction matters enormously. Nostalgia seeks to return. Stewardship seeks to carry forward. One looks backward. The other creates continuity. Mules Mansion deserves preservation not because Karachi should return to 1917 but because the city of Karachi deserves access to its own memory.

Cities, in their own right, possess personalities. Some are disciplined. Some are energetic. Some are contemplative. Some are restless. Karachi has always been restless. Its energy comes from movement. People arrive. People depart. Money flows. Ideas circulate. The city constantly reinvents itself. This dynamism is among its greatest strengths. Yet dynamism without memory becomes instability.

A city requires anchors. Heritage buildings perform this function. They provide continuity amid change. They remind citizens that they belong to something older and larger than themselves. Remove enough of these anchors and a city risks becoming interchangeable with any other urban agglomeration. A collection of roads, buildings, and transactions. Functional perhaps. Profitable perhaps. But forgettable.

The world’s greatest cities are memorable precisely because they preserve layers. Ancient and modern coexist. History and innovation interact. Memory and aspiration reinforce each other. This balance remains one of the central challenges of urban policy in the twenty-first century.

Ultimately, Mules Mansion in Karachi functions as a mirror. When we look at it, we see more than architecture. We see ourselves. We see our priorities. We see our successes and failures. We see what we value. We see what we ignore. The building reflects both Karachi’s greatness and its vulnerabilities. It reflects the ambition that once created extraordinary public spaces. It reflects the governance failures that allowed deterioration. It reflects the resilience of heritage. It reflects the fragility of memory. And it reflects the choices still before us. For the story of Mules Mansion standing on the harbour of Karachi is not finished. Its future remains unwritten. Restoration remains possible. Revitalization remains possible. Renewed civic pride remains possible. The building has not yet surrendered. The question is whether the city has also no surrendered.

As evening descends upon Karachi Harbour, the stone walls of Mules Mansion absorb the last light of the setting sun. Ships move across distant waters. Cranes continue their labor. Traffic roars. The city rushes onward, impatient as ever. And there, amid noise and neglect, stands the old mansion. Watching. Remembering. Waiting. Waiting for a city to decide whether memory matters. Waiting for policymakers to decide whether heritage belongs within the vocabulary of development. Waiting for administrators to recognize that cultural assets are not ornamental luxuries but strategic resources. Waiting for citizens to understand that every lost building diminishes not only a skyline but a civilization.

In my view, the ultimate lesson of Mules Mansion in Karachi is that urban decline rarely begins with buildings. It begins with ideas. It begins with the gradual abandonment of stewardship. It kick starts with the belief that development can be measured solely in economic terms. The decline, more often than not, begins with  the assumption that culture is secondary, heritage expendable, beauty optional, and memory negotiable. The fate of Mules Mansion therefore raises a final and unsettling question: is this merely the story of an old building overlooking Karachi Harbour? Or is it a story about governance that forgets inheritance, planning that neglects meaning, development that confuses growth with progress, administrations that prioritize transactions over civilization, and societies that slowly lose sight of the difference between building cities and merely expanding them?

If Mules Mansion ultimately falls, the greatest loss will not be measured in stone, timber, or architecture. The greatest loss will be the realization that what disappeared was not merely a building. What disappeared was a fragment of memory, a piece of civic identity, an expression of cultural confidence, and a reminder that cities, like nations, are judged not only by what they create, but also by what they choose to preserve.

Read: Life After Che – Short Story

_____________________ 

Raphic Burdo is a student of Literature, Psychology, Public Policy and Entrepreneurship. He writes on the subjects where all four intersect.

The post The Mules Mansion of Karachi first appeared on Sindh Courier.