Pakistani music is recognised around the world for its distinct and creative style. The diversities in Pakistani music are there for everyone to hear, with artists coming up with everything from hip hop and rock, all the way to classical eastern music, with some musicians even putting them together. The fact that we don’t have a prestigious film industry helps rather than hurts. Since artists don’t look towards movies to be their main form of advertisement or the medium for people to be exposed to their music, they don’t need to make specific types of tracks to please producers and are the only people involved in making their music they retain their individuality as artists and don’t “sell out” to gain commercial success. But, then why do so many of our biggest artists jump at the first opportunity to record music in India? Why do the concerts that take place in Pakistan pale in comparison to those you might see in other countries? The reason in my opinion is simply, piracy. It may not seem like it, but the artists in our music industry are severely underpaid. Their main source of income, as I see it, are live concerts and advertisements. That’s probably why Ali Zafar has sang the theme song for almost every notable telecommunications company in the country at some point in time, and why we had artists like Adnan Sami move to India for more opportunities to showcase their talents. Piracy exists everywhere in the world, but in most parts, there are laws to protect people from it. These laws are enforced strictly which keeps the piracy contained to a very small amount. As a result, not only are album sales and digital downloads monitored, artists and record companies get paid well for their efforts. This gives rise to accurate music charts, and the awards and accolades that are given to the artists grow in stature. Millions tune in to watch the Grammy’s, but if I went out on the street and asked people in Pakistan what our most esteemed music award was, half of them wouldn’t even have any names in their heads to throw around. Apart from that, when artists get paid bags of money rather than just large enough pay checks to live a good life, they invest with larger, self organised concerts in bigger venues with larger crowds and rather than playing in small schools and colleges in concerts organised by sponsors. Many might argue that it isn’t easy to stop piracy. But it is certainly worth a try.

My friend stood painting something abstract, holding a cigarette  in a manner that complimented her artistic persona. She probably noticed my sarcastic smile and said, ‘Hey Ammar! I know you criticize abstract art, but you see artists are free souls. We don’t believe in any rules, regulations and boundaries. We choose to be apolitical and are not disciplined folks at all. Discipline and art do not go along.” I remained silent looking at something black lying next to her bag. She continued, “What are you looking at? The graduation gown? That’s for the convocation dress rehearsal. Everything has to be perfect for the honorable Prime Minister!” I’ve decided that I am not going to attend the 12th convocation of the National College of Arts, from where I graduated last year. I am not going to be a part of this celebration. Despite being a distinction holder and the fact that my parents have waited for this moment I graduated - I refuse to attend. This should be taken as a small form of resistance over an event where artists rush to offer protocol to bureaucrats. You may think that I am being ultra leftist but I cannot participate. You can either be Darbaari or Awaami. Many consider our academic artists as some sort of rebels who oppose the bourgeoisie and bureaucracy. Wrong. A majority of them have a love affair with the establishment. I find it ironic that some ‘liberal artists’, who claim to be the intellectual vanguard of the country, are so pro-establishment. This doesn’t just include the fresh art graduates but also academics who romanticize their ‘artistic freedom’ and have illusion of being liberators. These people feel pride in the fact that  a feudal cum Prime Minister of a chaotic country would spend a few minutes in their ceremony. The “free souls” are so afraid of committing any mistake that they organize rehearsals to make sure everything remains ‘disciplined.’ Mr Gilani hasn’t played any slightest role in shaping my artistic abilities. He probably doesn’t even know what art is. He has no right to preside the convocation ceremony of an art school. I can’t pretend to have any respect when I don’t have that for him. I don’t have any illusions regarding People’s Party being ‘comparatively a progressive party' of Pakistan. All the main leadership come from a feudal background, something that can never be ignored. Moreover, during their regime we have witnessed the brutal killings of their senior and outspoken members like Salmaan Taseer and Shahbaz Bhatti. Mr Gilani , being the Prime Minister of Pakistan, has failed to punish their murderers. He has failed to find the people responsible for the killing of Benazir Bhutto. He has failed to provide people with the basic necessities of life. And I can’t receive my graduation degree from a failure, no matter how respectable he is in the eyes of these 'art bureaucrats'. Lets replace him with those architects of society who have been suffering since ever in this land of the pure. Where are those blood-spitting artists? I want them to award me the degree. Where are those hunger-stricken poets? I want them to award me the degree. Where are those revolutionaries who got tortured in Zia’s era? I want them to award me the degree. My art is dedicated to the people’s cause and I don’t need any Prime Minister to prove my art. I would rather choose what Faiz said once:

My heart, my fellow traveller It has been decreed again That you and I be exiled

French author George Sand wrote in a letter to her friend in 1872:

“Art for art’s sake is an empty phrase. Art for the sake of the true, art for the sake of the good and the beautiful, that is the faith I am searching for...”

Berlin is like that friend, who as soon as you meet, shares her deepest, darkest secrets without any shame. She’s been betrayed more harshly than Jesus, has seen more blood than a haematologist and has had her fair share of wars waged on her soil. Anyone in her position would just clam up and hide their scars; not wear them on their sleeves all the time. Yet, Berlin showcases her biggest mistakes for the entire world. Just when you think that a broken person like her has probably forgotten how to really live - she takes you to a party so wild and acts like such a looney bin - you’ll end up wondering if she was ever hurt in the first place. She’s not the most popular girl on the block - yet every expat or tourist who accidentally runs into her, falls head over heels for her. She loves her lovers but doesn’t really belong to anyone. She has reasons to be aloof; she’s trusted the wrong men all her life. Maybe that’s why she’s with a woman now. But through it all, she doesn’t judge you for being different, she judges you for being the same. She’s mad, quirky and creative. She lets in only the best musicians, artists and writers and then gives them all the liberty and space they need. She may not have the best body, but she’s got the most magnificent art painted all over it. She doesn’t photograph well because she’s constantly moving, changing and transforming. She’s not one to put on trends or designer labels. Instead, she saves all her money. Even though she may not be a big risk taker with her finances, her various fetishes are downright scary at times. There’s music in her every step, every move - and she’s completely unaware of it. And just when you think you’ve figured her all out, she walks away from you. PHOTOS: SABA KHALID Read more by Saba here.

The People’s Choice Awards are undoubtedly, one of the most famous American awards shows to date. These awards exhibit what people think of certain actors, bands, artists and the like. Of course, it also exhibits how these people are somewhat challenged when it comes to choosing their favourite actors, bands, artists etcetera. Not that they should be judged or criticised for their weakness since they are, after all, called ‘People’s Choice Awards’ and not ‘My-Opinion-is-Obviously-Better-Than-Yours’ awards. But here in this article, I am free to give my personal opinion which is not all that eyebrow-raising since as I am one of the ‘people’ and hence, I can and shall state my ‘choice’. And no one can stop me. The band that I am going to base my choice upon here is One Direction – a band that has earned rather diverse opinions. Even reading this, I am sure that about 50% of the readers would have cringed or raged internally saying,

“Aw, hell naw!”

“Baby, you light up my world like nobody else.”

This evening I attended the launch of an unusual art exhibition in Karachi at the Amin Gulgee Gallery. It was called ‘Fresh!’ – 64 artists under 30, and showcased the art of yes, you guessed it, 64 young Pakistani artists from all across the country. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="337"] Source: AminGulgee.com[/caption] John McCarry, coordinator of the gallery, told me that Amin had attended an exhibition in New York at the New Museum called ‘Younger than Jesus’, which showcased artists all under the age of 34.

“Why not do something like that here?” wondered Amin.

“I was very committed to representing artists who were not only producing conceptually and technically resolved work, but also those who show promise and are dedicated to their careers as working artists.”

“We found the creative voice and visual language of a critical mass of Pakistani artists, specifically those at a turning point in their careers, ready to take off and make their individual mark on the national visual identity of Pakistan.”

“Look! That artist is from Balochistan. That one over there, a really talented fashion photographer, he’s from Gujranwala. And the girl who made the condom dress, she’s from Malakand.”

“What does it mean?” I asked her. “I made this to show that memory is something you can remember, but you can’t go back to. You can only visit it in your mind in a very limited way,” she told me. (Hireath, Sidra Bukhari) “Oh, I see.”

“The artists said that we were crazy to have let them do whatever they wanted. They couldn’t believe that they were being given complete freedom of expression. But look at what’s resulted from it...”

What an opening! The much-awaited Coke Studio season seven begins with the hope of fresh music, sounds, return-to-roots and much more. Strings have teamed up to become the sound producers of a huge franchise even though they have no prior music production experience. It was but expected that, apart from picking all the right people, their overall presentation would be a ‘celebration of strings’, given Bilal Maqsood’s love for the guitar. Episode one fared well and stumbled a little as well, but gave much to celebrate. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x25xopb_coke-studio-pakistan-season-7-episode-1-promo_music[/embed] Ustad Raees Khan and Abida Perveen: Mein Sufi Hoon Who can go wrong placing these two maestros together? It was a joy to see someone with the stature of Ustad Raees Khan in Coke Studio and what better way to celebrate ‘strings’ than to celebrate the sitar! Abida ji’s and Ustad Sahab’s juxtaposition in front of each other was a brilliant visual placement and was well-captured by the camera. However, coming to the song itself, one needs a superb maestro level producer to really be able to arrange and pull off the performances of such experienced stellar musicians. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Coke Studio Facebook page[/caption] The two giants remain largely ‘separated’ throughout the song. Ustad Sahab’s Alaap was followed by Abida ji’s singing which was then followed by Ustad Sahab’s solo and then Abida ji’s (and the drum’s) crescendo. The sitar should have been given the space to ‘talk’ to the song directly. A continuous memorable short sitar melody should have been woven into the song such that without it, the song would seem empty. There were many places where there could be a ‘nok-jhok’ between the vocalist and the sitar which would have created more balance in the song, but we never got to experience that beautiful possibility. Overall, the two flowed beautifully in parallel, but never did meet. And that is where it fell short. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2696w0_ustaad-raees-khan-abida-parveen-mein-sufi-hon-coke-studio-season-7-episode-1_music[/embed] Sajjad Ali: Tum Naraz Ho Before regaling his songs, one should commend Sajjad Ali’s style. The man just looked dapper! The casual top unbuttoned black shirt gave a hint of how comfortable he was with his surroundings and the ease with which he was going to own the song. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Coke Studio Facebook page[/caption] The overall “Coors” stringed sound was a great start to the song. Sajjad on the flute was a perfect complement and of course we all love him – even when he whistles! But again, there were moments when the song could have gone a notch up – the harmonies were largely wasted. Instead of humming and singing the same lyrics in different pitch, the harmonies could have vocalised ‘sargams’ instead – something that he himself is very good with. Strings gave tribute to ‘strings’ by bringing Faraz Anwar in this song – a fine, skilful musician and guitarist of Pakistan. However, his hurried ligardos and hammer-ons did not do anything for or in the song. Though his technique was spot on, Faraz’s solo was largely forgetful. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2696pn_sajjad-ali-tum-naraz-ho-coke-studio-season-7-episode-1_music[/embed] Niazi brothers: Lai Beqadraan Naal Yaari Another fresh and great choice for Coke Studio! Loved the way they worked the mike, performed, entertained and sang! The opening mandolin piece by a scion of the Taffoo family, Ustad Tanveer, was a great inclusion. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Coke Studio Facebook page[/caption] Just like Abida ji brought the Sufi heart of Sindh in her song, the Niazi brothers brought the robustness and the celebratory mood of Punjab to us. Again, flautist Sajid Ali was perfectly in sync with the song, as was Ustad Tanveer’s mandolin interjections with Babar Khanna’s dhol; even Faraz delighted in his little riffs! The Niazi brothers are capable of far more vocal versatility and it would have been even more delightful had they experimented a bit more. But I guess the mere thought of tinkering with a folk song popularised to international level by your father can be a bit daunting! But then again, isn’t this what Coke Studio is about? [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2696vq_niazi-brothers-lai-beqadraan-naal-yaari-coke-studio-season-7-episode-1_music[/embed] Asrar: Sab Aakho Ali Ali It is heartening to see Coke Studio embrace freshness and Asrar’s uninhibited vocals were a great addition to the line-up. His first properly produced song seemed to be greatly enjoyed by all musicians as maybe there was no ‘pressure’ to measure up. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Coke Studio Facebook page[/caption] And how lucky is Asrar to get Aamir Zaki as the guest musician on his song? Zaki’s first solo was soulful and restrained; he completely owned the song in the end. This is master musicianship and I hope all other musicians were taking notes! Could there be a better way to celebrate strings? [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2696p1_asrar-sab-aakho-ali-ali-coke-studio-season-7-episode-1_music[/embed] The Coke Studio line-up is great and the first episode has brought with it great promise. Strings itself is a part of the line-up and while Ahad Nayani is superb, the guitarist seems redundant. Ahad’s bermudas maybe someone’s ‘styling and personality’ idea, but it does not make music look, appear and sound sublime. And Asrar would be well advised neither does smoke doth a true Sufi make. Here’s to hoping that Coke Studio also encourages instrumentals, and musicians aren’t just mere accompanists to vocalists. There are many like Ustad Tanveer, Aamir, Ustad Raees and Faraz who can carry off entire shows on their own. So I am looking forward to seeing the gap between vocalists and instrumentalists being bridged in the rest of the season.

Bhand e Pather, part of Kashmiri folk theatre, is a satirical and realistic drama, one which incorporates mythological legends and contemporary social satire; a traditional mixture of art. Mostly performed in the countryside, it is used to entertain the public, especially on different ceremonies. The artists have a separate dress code, in accordance with the theme, for the various plays performed. These plays are always performed in an open ground. The characters in the Bhand e Pather are well versed, and because the performances are based on social issues, they are seen criticising the rulers and stressing upon the betterment of society. In its early days, when Bhand e Pather was introduced, it was performed in Sufi shrines here in Kashmir; 72 theatres have been established across the Kashmir valley since. Wathoora, in central Kashmir’s Budgam district, owns 10 theatres that are famous all over India. While this century-old folk art has been on a steady decline in Kashmir, artists are now calling out for the revival of this dying folk. In fact, whilst throwing light on the history of Kashmir’s folk theatre, the Chief Secretary of the Bhand e Pather amalgamation, Ghulam Mohiuddin Aajiz Balapora, himself called for a revival of the theatre. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Ashfaq Wani[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="362"] Ghulam Mohiuddin Aajiz Balapora. Photo: Ashfaq Wani[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="578"] Photo: Ashfaq Wani[/caption] The Ladishah is a literary type of traditional folk genre in Kashmir. It is the art of satire embedded in a song revolving around Kashmiri ethos, and is written and sung by the same person. Usually addressing all social, political and cultural issues, the performer is seen wearing a pheran, a white trouser and white turban, all the while using his, or her, fingertips to play the beads on an iron rod. Here the artists ridicule kings and politicians, by exposing their corruption, and address several other social ills. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="585"] Photo: Ashfaq Wani[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Ashfaq Wani[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="540"] Photo: Ashfaq Wani[/caption] Traditionally, the orchestra used in Bhand e Pather includes dhol (drum), sawarnai (an instrument that has a strong metallic sound with the impact of open air), nagara (an accompaniment to the dhol) and thalij (metal cymbal). The plays of the Bhands are called Pather and the artists use different masks for the plays. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Ashfaq Wani[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="544"] Photo: Ashfaq Wani[/caption] There are many children, from all over the valley, seen watching the plays in an effort to understand and study the skilful in acting, music and dance displayed in the performance.  The actors who perform the Bhand e Pather are not age bound; this traditional folk art, in fact, has been passed on from generation to generation, father to son; the age of the performers range from anywhere between 11-year-old’s to 70-year-olds. Unfortunately, due to the steady decline of this form of art in Kashmir, artists have been driven to other professions, such as weaving wicker baskets for kangris (firepots used in chilling winter), woollen sweaters, and carpets. Their part time jobs are mostly to work as masons, carpenters, and shopkeepers.

It’s the 1960s and no one wants to buy ‘lady art’, not least from a withering divorcee and single mother, or so starts Tim Burton's latest offering, Big Eyes. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="400"] Photo: Facebook page[/caption] Based on a true story, the film centres around artist Margaret Keane (Amy Adams) and her new realtor husband Walter Keane (Christoph Waltz) who, with his knack for selling and compulsion for artistic fame, ends up taking credit for her paintings and successfully making them into a commercial art sensation. It is only ten years down the line, once Margaret takes her daughter and leaves Walter, that she gains the courage to speak up and finally tries to reclaim the art that is rightfully hers. [embed width="620"]http://vimeo.com/106629781[/embed] Big Eyes is about as un-Burton as it gets which, as with Ed Wood, is not necessarily a bad thing, it’s just a shame that in this type of film where there is scope for the visual exploration of a character's inner self, this is not illustrated through the more immersive, surreal aesthetics for which Burton is renowned. While there are some striking glimpses into the artist’s psyche as well as pop culture, it is the story of a lost sense of self-worth that is the most fascinating and alongside the perennial question of what is art, could have been better explored. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="400"] Photo: Facebook page[/caption] Instead, the film focuses on the more conventional story of Walter and Margaret’s relationship, mostly eschewing a deeper understanding of the more challenging cultural debates, though these are briefly explored through art critic John Canaday (Terrence Stamp). [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="400"] Photo: Facebook page[/caption] The trouble with concentrating on the relationship throughout the film is that Walter is painted as a clichéd pre-Frozen Disney villain – right from the creepy first kiss he shares with Margaret – limiting room for character growth thereafter. And as the film continues hammering home the vilification of Walter Keane, simultaneously campaigns for a sainthood for Margaret Keane, making these polarised characters not only a little boring to watch over an hour and a half but also further reduces the impact the deceit has on other relationships in the film, most importantly, the mother daughter arc, which is left to the wayside and only features in contrived fits and starts. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="400"] Photo: Facebook page[/caption] While the characters are rather one dimensional, Amy Adams is once again pretty remarkable and although she plays a rather feeble character, we still manage to empathise with her by the end and it is arguably safe to assume that she plays Margaret with more nuance than the character might have been written on the page. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="400"] Photo: Facebook page[/caption] Waltz, on the other hand, does not go unscathed and is left playing a maniacal character from the start without respite, ending up as an obscenely melodramatic arch villain by the end of the film (though overzealous Weinstein's cleaver-editing may also be a contributing factor). [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="400"] Photo: IMDb[/caption] Big Eyes is the epitome of a case in which the Hollywood-sanitised version of a story is told and a much more fulfilling yet less straightforward structure akin to a riskier independent film is sacrificed for salubrious, commercial fayre. I'll give it a 2/5.

I like to listen to music, just like anybody else. And like a lot of people out there, I crave a musical atmosphere where I don’t have to listen to Bollywood music blaring out the speakers all the time. And it makes me wonder, whatever happened to the Pakistani music industry? Did it just die? Are we not good enough? Has everyone abandoned it? In this social media and gadget-infested world, it is not hard to find answers to these questions. I have had discussions with famous artists about it, talked about this on television and even had drawing room discussions about the state of the essentially Pakistan-grown music. And I have discovered that it’s not as bad as it seems. There are so many musicians out there trying to make a name for themselves, and are using social media and the internet to put out their work for the world to see. And for them, to come together collectively in order to have a single platform to showcase their work has been the biggest challenge, apart from selling their music. This is where Patari comes in. Currently in its beta phase, Patari has brought together numerous musicians to provide a single platform to every musician in Pakistan for people to listen to. They have collaborated with over 80 music labels to bring on board all the musical talent in the country and have worked with great music journalists to curate the playlists currently present on the website. Breaking down the website for you guys, the part that got me intrigued was their invite. It’s cleverly designed to lure the user into signing up. But the problem right now is that only a limited number of invites were sent, as the website is currently in its beta phase. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="401"] Photo: Patari website[/caption] As one clicks on and signs up, the website automatically takes you to the ‘Discover’ section where you can find all the genres and choose ones you might be interested in. Apart from the regular genres out there, the ones that caught my attention were ‘Bahngra Pop’, ‘Devotional’ (Sufi music), ‘Naya Pakistan’ and ‘Socio/Political’. With a vast library featuring music categorised according to the kind of lyrics one would want to hear, is something worth checking out. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Patari website[/caption] Checking out the Sufi genre, you will find Arieb Azhar, Ali Zafar, Junoon along with many new artists like Abdullah Qureshi. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Patari website[/caption] As you discover, you will see that there are categorisations according to mood as well. You have, from your ‘Break Up’ playlist to ‘Baarish’ (rain) to ‘Funk’ and playlists curated according to the kind of emotions one might want to indulge in. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Patari website[/caption] The ‘Break Up’ playlist features all cool artists, from Shehzad Roy and Najam Sheraz, to new artists like The Tamaashbeens. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Patari website[/caption] Apart from already present playlists on the website, you can make your own and ‘favourite’ the songs you might want to put on repeat. There’s also a feature through which artists on board have their bios on their own artist pages. Their songs are categorised according to their albums and are featured on other albums. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Photo: Patari website[/caption] With the international market equipped with websites like Spotify, where artists get a part of the revenue generated through subscriptions, Patari.pk is providing local artists an outlet of the same kind. It has a monitisation program through which the artist will get 30% of the cut from Patari’s revenue. This gives hope to upcoming musicians who think that pursuing music is not a financially feasible option. However, keeping all praise aside, the real issue Patari will have to face is engaging its customers when it goes into its commercial zone. Will users pay for the music they want to listen to? Are users willing to pay for something they can surely find on either YouTube or other websites? In a country like Pakistan, where piracy is at its peak, Patari will definitely face tough competition if it wants to stay relevant. With more of the Pakistani community coming on to social media, how will Patari appeal to the masses once it does decide to go commercial? Virtual hipsters will pay for the service, but if there’s a simple music lover who can find the things he/she wants on other platforms, how will Patari lure such people into using it? Only time will tell how Patari does in the future, but right now, it looks like something worth appreciating. Here’s what the Twitterverse is saying about Patari: https://twitter.com/khatmal23/status/576868153092800512 https://twitter.com/_FatimahAhmed/status/576715442095423488 https://twitter.com/JibbyD/status/576463270439202817 https://twitter.com/tweet_qash/status/576413022899466240 https://twitter.com/Aibasy/status/573222682197684224 From how it’s looking, Patari might just be the thing our Pakistani music industry needs to bring our people out from under the Bollywood rock and back to enjoying our own music. So if you’re craving some great Pakistani music, I suggest you sign up and give this a try. Supporting our music industry is very important and this is where you can do it – so stop complaining about what Pakistan lacks and start appreciating the little things we do have!

If you are a young struggling female journalist in Pakistan with big dreams of reporting stories that matter, you will probably spend a few years reporting all the stories that don’t matter! Among all those literary masterpieces you pen will be an array of pieces on:

• Designers who have made it big
• Designers who have not made it big but have a great PR agency
• The 4363778 lawn launches
• Fashion “weeks” that are three-days long

“Designer (insert Bawani, Hashwani, Lakhwani, Lakhani, Dewani) sartorial splendour displays a unique aesthetic.”

“Tobah, kitni bakwaas line thee!” “Good heavens, what a terrible collection that was!”

The American singing competition, American Idol unfortunately meets its finale this year. Created by Simon Fuller based on the British series Pop Idol grasped my attention since its very first season in 2002. Being a fan of the idol platform, American idol had me glued to the screen for at least nine consecutive seasons. Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t missed any season over all, but the anticipation decreased significantly as Simon Cowell left the judges panel. I mean, I’m a fan of Jennifer Lopez, but only as an artist, not too sure about her as a judge. Simon Cowell and Paula Abdul made the show very exciting. Along the years, the two judges’ chemistry remained intact; the bickering like married couple was always amusing. In my opinion, Cowell and Abdul’s cruel and flirty relationship was one of the most riveting factors of the show, along with Cowell’s abrupt honesty which gave the show that unique edge, even though he held the tendency to be occasionally offensive. Furthermore, I always felt a positive vibe from the host of the show Ryan Seacrest; his humble yet fun personality complimented the show perfectly in every season. For me, the best moments of idol flight include absorbing performances like Track of my tears, Bridge over troubled water and Hello, but what initially attracted me were the auditions.  The start of every season gave countless unforgettable moments in the auditions. Some contestants came with their flawless breath-taking vocals, while for others, we had Cowell’s prickly side ready for a nerve-wrecking insult. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2lqii3_adam-lambert-bohemian-rhapsody-audition-20-01-09_webcam[/embed] [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2pnvjk_simon-cowell-disturbed-by-american-idol-audition_webcam[/embed] An example of this was the audition phase of season six, in which Cowell ripped the contestant Kenneth Swale, as he said,

“You look a little odd, your dancing is terrible, the singing was horrendous, and you look like one of those creatures that live in the jungle with the massive eyes, what are they called? Bush babies.”

Committing plagiarism under the guise of inspiration seems to be the new norm for fashion designers these days. And Pakistani designer Nida Khurram is no different.  Keeping in mind the latest trend of digital print clothing, Khurram utilised modern-day patterns and illustrations in her Pret Summer Collection 2015 that was showcased at Fashion Pakistan Lounge in Karachi on May 30, 2015 and it will run till the stock lasts. Khurram, who was previously associated with the Asian Institute of Fashion Design (AIFD) and famous for her western collections and motifs, revealed while talking to The Express Tribune,

“I’ve been really inspired by fashion illustrations of London, Milan and NYC based artists. Their work has motivated me to bring the collection forward through digital prints.”

“News from Pakistan: a DISGUSTING collection “inspired in fashion illustrators” says the “fashion designer”! Using my work (and others also) without my permition!!!! Grande Vaca!!!! Feel free to send her Messages” (sic)

Saif Ali Khan’s Phantom (2015) was a sad excuse for a movie, much like Shaan Shahid’s Musalman (2001). Movies that play on the very jingoistic sentiment, which have led us into various wars and thousands of casualties, do nothing but betray their audiences who otherwise wish and need peace in the region. [embed width="620"]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2z857o[/embed] Pakistan was right to ban the film as a sign of protest. I would expect the same from India but India being a much older democracy has been far more disappointing. Not only did it ban non-political movies and dramas from Pakistan, but our artists like Shakeel Siddiqui and singers like Atif Aslam have also been directly threatened whilst on Indian soil, something no Indian artists has ever faced while visiting Pakistan. The recent controversy created by Phantom, and subsequent statements made by Saif Ali Khan, got angry responses from known actors like Shaan Shahid and Hamza Ali Abbasi, and anchors like Faisal Qureshi and Shahzad Khan. I can understand their anger and hence, this video is not about defending Phantom or Saif Ali Khan. [fbvideo link="https://www.facebook.com/qureshi.faisal/videos/vb.90055916454/10152932041031455/?type=2&theater"][/fbvideo] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="338"] Photo: Hamza Ali Abbasi Facebook page[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="492"] Photo: Hamza Ali Abbasi Facebook page[/caption] [fbvideo link="https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=10153121929723061"][/fbvideo] But I fail to understand the use of sexism to echo one’s point in a patriarchal society (Qureshi), questioning people’s religion and associating one’s morality to their clothes (Abbasi), teasing a man on his wife’s personal life (Shahzad Khan) and demanding ban on another Pakistani Artist, Mawra Hocane, and endangering her career just for having an opposite view about a fictional movie (Shahid). This video is about the references and context we use to express our anger which may be perpetuating prejudices. https://twitter.com/mshaanshahid/status/637351362288844800 These four gentlemen above have done remarkable work for Pakistan in their respective fields and otherwise, and are blessed with the love and support of millions. They are role models who people try to emulate. So, in effect, how they phrase their arguments and address their prejudices matters. https://twitter.com/faisalqureshi/status/638262326861299712 https://twitter.com/faisalqureshi/status/638260159324688384 https://twitter.com/faisalqureshi/status/638296344071962624 I have also tried to emphasise in this video that regardless of having opposing views, we as people need to learn to engage the other with respect, in the same way we expect it from others. Pakistan Zindabad!

It is a given that life and everything that pertains to it is in a constant state of change. Furthermore, it silently urges all the material and immaterial to be subject to that change. As individuals, with every second and experience, we adapt and find ourselves ever evolving just the same. With this notion in perspective, it is equally evident that the aesthetic of art has evolved as well, for what once was associated with the beautiful, is now just as closely tied to the disturbing and the chaotic. But how and why has that sensibility evolved? ‘Aesthetic’ is anything that evokes a sensory experience and is inclusive of the visuals we experience on a daily basis. Over the past few decades, terrorism and violence have seeped into our everyday lives. Therefore, it will come as common knowledge that, now more than ever, violence has penetrated our definition of aesthetic. Therefore, its inclusion is not a fault of aesthetics, but that of the world. But where does art fall amidst the violence and terror that we are growing mind-numbingly accustomed to? What role does it play? First, let us establish the role of art itself within a generalised context. This is a question that boggles the average individual. To all those who believe art serves no purpose, I would shamelessly argue that they are stuck in a box of pretence that is so small that they cannot seem to surface from it. People undermine the power of visuals. I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’. That’s because there is truth to it. As an artist, no matter what form the work presents itself in, I can make you think along my tangent and we can revel in the produce of that train of thought; the translations of my curiosity and my subsequent revelations. If authors write, musicians sing and actors perform while the majority of people commemorate the fruits of their labour, why is visual art any less significant? And just like any other form of art, visual artists produce because they have something to say. This brings us back to the former part of this article: where does art fall amidst the violence? The increasing evidences of terror in the world appall the average individual. And it comes as no surprise that artists take these matters as inspiration to form dialogues. These dialogues serve as pleas and make the viewer gasp within the crux of the discourse. An example can be found in one of Pakistan’s leading artists Adeela Suleman; whose recent exhibition at Canvas Gallery titled ‘Dream of Carnage’ beautifies heavy connotations of bloodshed and barbarity, commenting on the manner in which we as a society have become numb and unreactive to such condemnable instances. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="400"] Photo: Canvas Gallery[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="400"] Photo: Canvas Gallery[/caption] Another example is that of Imran Qureshi’s installation at the Sharjah Biennial in 2011 titled ‘Blessings upon the Land of my Love’ and ‘And How Many Rains Must Fall before the Stains Are Washed Clean’ at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 2013. Imran’s work speaks as a cry against the blood that has been shed, his floral forms echoing with hope for regeneration. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Imran Qureshi, 'Blessings Upon the Land of my Love', 2011, acrylic and emulsion paint on interlocking brick pavement.
Commissioned by Sharjah Art Foundation
Photo: Alfred Rubio[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] Imran Qureshi, 'Blessings Upon the Land of my Love', 2011, acrylic and emulsion paint on interlocking brick pavement.
Commissioned by Sharjah Art Foundation
Photo: Alfred Rubio[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="403"] Imran Qureshi, 'And How Many Rains Must Fall before the Stains Are Washed Clean', 2013, acrylic.
Commissioned by the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York for the Iris and B. Gerald Cantor Roof Garden.
Photo: metmuseum via Instagram[/caption] An article appeared recently featuring a Pakistani, Gauhar Aftab, who wrote a comic book to counter terrorism. One statement that stood out in the article was,

“… the menace of terrorism could not be resolved by bullets and bombs but it had to be fought with ideas.”

“Art is hugely contributing in bringing the audiences/spectators closer to art and their present surroundings.”

“One of my favourite exhibitions locally was ‘The Rising Tide’ show at the Mohatta Palace a few years ago. Some of our most prolific local artists were exhibiting – a significant portion of the artists were creating work around issues of terrorism. A few years later, I find our conversations still haven’t shifted…”

“Artists must be active in order to inspire change.”

“Art spaces should be made multifunctional, open and communal in order to effectively break down class barriers and create inclusive conversation.”

“Bringing down terrorism is not about arresting and executing people, which is counterproductive. Let us also not forget that terrorism is not simply one group against another. It is made up of a whole system of international politics and economy and in Pakistan it is accompanied with a heavy dose of class inequality. I do not claim to have an answer for this. That would be arrogant. But creativity and equal opportunity to creative expression is an important vent into which people can resolve their problems in more productive ways.”

Today marks the hundredth birthday of one of Pakistan’s – and according to the equally legendary Intizar Hussain, Asia’s – greatest painters, Shakir Ali (1916-1975). 2016 is deservedly being celebrated as Ali’s birth centenary year and the occasion should not only refocus attention on the enduring legacy Ali has left behind in his works inspired by modernism and the progressive tradition, but also in the form of Lahore’s National College of Arts, whom Ali single-handedly transformed into an institution of excellence. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="528"] Photo: www.vaslart.org/[/caption] Ali is also singular in that, unlike his other legendary contemporaries Abdur Rahman Chughtai, Sadequain and Gulgee, his students now populate the art scene across Pakistan and abroad, and carry his legacy forward. In the hopes of rekindling interest in Ali’s life and work, I am here presenting a translation in English of a tribute to Ali soon after his untimely death in 1975 written by one of his dearest friends, the eminent Marxist and secular intellectual and activist, Sibte Hasan, who like Ali, is also celebrating his birth centenary this year. It is Hasan who described his friend Ali as ‘The Anguish of Oppression, the Voice of Art’,

“Shakir Ali has passed away. Lahore has become desolate and the country has lost a great artist, a very beloved human being.  Shakir loved Lahore a lot. He had made the city his homeland and its earth eventually embraced him in eternal rest. Shakir studied art in Bombay, London, Paris and Prague, but it was in Pakistan where his skill shone. Its individuality and beauty of self-expression achieved prominence here. He was the leader of abstract art in Pakistan. He persuaded the local artists towards abstract art. The artists of the new generation revered him like a sage. Actually some of his qualities were like monks and ascetics. His personality had such a magnetic pull that his students, countless number of writers, intellectuals and artists became his devotees. His sudden death left everyone in tears. As a painter, Shakir Ali was world-famous but he was as happy painting as he was witnessing the emergence of creative abilities in others. In 1953, when he was appointed lecturer at the Mayo School of Arts, this historic institution was in very bad shape – obscurantist teachers who had no interest in the arts; and those students who could not get admission elsewhere. The environment of the school began to change gradually because of Shakir. He would paint in the room all day or would talk to lads by mingling with them; but he neither blew the trumpet of his high competence nor exercised pedantic intimidation. Every other competent teacher became a part of the Mayo School due to Shakir’s untiring efforts and eventually, Mayo School transformed into the National College of Arts. He remained the principal of what was known as Mayo School and then the National College for nearly 15 years, but his attitude towards students and teachers always remained friendly. It was due to him this school became the most respectable arts institution in the country. He was already an institution himself but he left behind an educational institution which will never forget his services. Shakir never possessed artificiality or show even in name. He was neither proud of the greatness of his skill nor did he ever talk about himself like narcissistic artists. Modesty and self-effacement were his nature. To move forward by pulling others down or chasing fame was not his style. He spoke little and the softness, slowness and simplicity in his disposition is also reflected in his paintings. Shakir was an embodiment of love. He did not know how to trouble a soul. The whole system of his thought and feeling danced around love and affection. This love was his life as well as his art. Love for beautiful things, the good traditions of Eastern culture, flowers and birds had entered every particle of his aesthetic sense. The Gautam Buddha and Jesus Christ, Mother and Child, a naked female body, egg-hatching sparrows and colourful flowers all are different signs of love and creativity. Shakir was never tired of the quest for artistic truth and his art was never affected by stagnation or obsolescence; in fact he kept carrying out new experiments till he passed away and departed from this world while shaping his sensory experiences in the form of colour and lines with great sincerity and truth.”

There is certain redemption in resurgence. A feeling of hope and of renewal, of things starting anew, of setting the old wrongs right. Pakistani cinema has come up by leaps and bounds in the last few years. From a struggling franchise engulfed in out-dated ideas desperately clinging on in order to survive and become a booming industry reminiscent of the golden days and a slight peek into the wondrous possibilities that lie ahead. Pakistani cinema has finally arrived and as a keen devotee of this resurrection it is apparent that the film industry is here to stay. Although the current situation resembles a bed of roses, not long ago it was a reflection of a barren lifeless orchard that had been left to dwindle and wither away. During 2003 and 2013, only a handful of cinematic productions took place. Low quality in terms of production, acting and direction reduced the industry to ruins. The diminishing number of production houses led to low receipts that significantly contributed to this downturn, eventually perpetuating a vicious cycle that threatened to deluge the industry into oblivion. However, in 2014 and the years that have followed, the industry reinvented itself. Crowd pleasers like Jawani Phir Nahi Ani (2015) and Na Maloom Afrad (2014) appealed to the masses accumulating record collections in cinema houses all over the country. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rBW7oZYgWRg https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xnCQHQ_yHms For many detractors though, this upturn in fortune had been achieved at an astounding cost. The industry had sold its soul to the devil and had become a sell-out, but then came Manto (2015) and Moor (2015). The duo introduced new standards of acting and direction that had never been seen before in the industry, so brilliant in their execution that everyone was taken back. The controversially nuance poet was brought to life with his plays, a tearful yet eye opening journey was revealed for all to see – something that had not been divulged before but had been done so beautifully that no one could argue that it was not worth the wait. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tnfx42fxCZU https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lla1lNt0wLI However, success thrives on continuity rather than on resting on one’s laurels. It was imperative for the industry to further extend this run that had people flocking to cinema houses once again; a welcome sight for sore eyes and a vision that for most part of the last decade seemed implausible. What followed were stories of friendship and of romance, of estranged love and of war that had people clambering for tickets. More so the success of the industry is a reflection of all those that are a part of it. With Pakistani films doing exceedingly well on local and international platforms, technicians and actors have been in high demand ever since. Numerous singers and actors have made the inauspicious journey across the border. Fawad Khan, with his heart throbbing looks and renowned acting skills has entranced Indian audience, while actresses such as the gorgeous Mahira Khan has left everyone drooling at her natural charisma and beauty – a reflection of the abundance of talent that resides behind these troubled borders. However, as any keen critic would postulate, it is paramount that we look through this veil and analyse as to what is happening at the grass roots. While talking to a keen cinema enthusiast, who has been associated with the industry for most of his life, he said the real emergence lies in schools and universities that are the true building blocks of this revolution. He cited how universities used to be breeding grounds for cinematic brilliance. How writers, directors and actors grew and evolved in an environment that was hospitable to their creative desires. However, ever since the 80s and even today, state restrictions and narrative coupled with increasing religious fanaticism in educational institutions has emasculated this approach and the consequences of which still haunt us as a nation. What resulted was a severe dearth of quality writers, artists and film makers that gave rise to the capitulation of the industry itself. More so among the numerous problems that the industry faced and still does is the lack of funding available to adventure into new avenues. What ensued was the use of obsolete technologies and indigent payoffs to writers, technicians and artists, thus consequentially leading to a crippling of the whole network upon which the film industry functions. Perhaps the most profound effect is the fact that despite the upturn in recent years, our film industry is still light years behind Bollywood or Hollywood. New and evolving methodologies, ingenious scripts (more so in the case of Hollywood) and most importantly professionalism have sent quality and revenues through the roof. Access to worldwide audiences and considerable star appeal significantly contributes to their upturn and is an aspect that our local industry severely lacks. As an inquisitive observer of what has been cooked up by the industry, I sincerely believe that despite the recent upturns, the industry and its constituents have a long way to go. It is vital for the industry to not trade stimulating and challenging scripts and projects for idiotic and vulgar sell-outs that, at best, leave a bitter taste in the viewer’s mouth. Maintaining a sense of uniqueness while being open to outside influence is in my opinion, the cardinal factor that will determine the future for our industry. However, more so it is perhaps how the industry handles this upsurge in fortune that will eventually decide if it will bear fruit. As a nation, we have often been accused of taking a back-step when what was required was to take control and move to the next level. Continuous improvements are essential in terms of quality, writing and acting. The small screen has already mirrored the success that our entertainment industry can accumulate. Learning from their blueprint and improving upon their mistakes, all the while encouraging young talent, can be the foundation upon which the industry can prosper. A welcome change in this regard is the approach adopted by the Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS). LUMS as the only established liberal arts institute in Pakistan has been a heretic and a safe haven for creative enthusiasts since its inception. Leading this thought process is the LUMS Media and Arts society or LMA. Evolving and getting bigger every year, the society spearheads numerous projects throughout the year. Ranging from dramatics to film making, the society takes a keen interest in what it assumes to be its responsibility in aiding the development of future artists by providing avenues to showcase their work. Perhaps their most riveting projects include the Filums (LUMS International Film Festival) and the documentary on the majestic hills of northern Pakistan that is to be released soon. Filums – hosted annually by the LUMS Media Arts Society (LMA), is one of the largest student-organised film festivals in South Asia. It serves as an important platform for the youth, upcoming filmmakers and enthusiasts to showcase their talent and come together to celebrate their passion. Filum brings together both amateur and aspiring filmmakers and experts of the field resulting in a nourishing and fulfilling experience for those involved. Although small in comparison to what the society envisions, for it to grow over the coming years, programs such as this, amongst others, mean LUMS has taken the first step towards a long, albeit rewarding journey ahead.

I’m standing at Alexanderplatz in Berlin, hearing music from three different directions coming from street artists who have set up their hats. One plays under a bridge, another next to a shopping district and a third outside a beer hall. I’m not sure which one to listen to when I get an urgent e-mail from Marium Kamal. Marium is an artist and a fine arts teacher who, in her free time, manages Shikari; a small indie duo who play only original Urdu and English songs in Karachi. I met her and the band quite cosmically at a coffee shop on my last day in Karachi. I used to watch them every day for a few months at the Zamzama branch of Espresso before I ballsied my way to getting their contact details. The coffee house in the crowded lane had organically become a co-working space for the playwrights and poets of the city. While doing many of my interviews, I used to find the band sitting with a bunch of their friends on couches, drinking coffee and singing their original tracks without charge to a creative-minded, music-starved audience working on their laptops. I loved the aspect of live music and they never distracted me from my writing or my subjects.

“They banned us at Espresso. Their guard practically threw us out; the waiters even refused to serve us coffee,” she wrote.

“Everyone is policing someone or the other in Pakistan,” says Billy to me from his makeshift studio in his parent’s basement.

“What’s the point? Why add to the already existing negative PR around Pakistan? The point is to create a change within the system here and that won’t happen by me sending this film abroad!”

“They’re great platforms if you want to play covers but no one wants to listen or produce original music anymore,” says Billy.

“We have no performance spaces where we can try out our material, practice, jam, get ideas and feedback from other artists. Even at some of the open mic nights, we are charged as a band to play our music,” says Safwan.

“Even they are not making original music anymore,” he adds.

“The guards at the park told us that playing music there could lead to a crowd gathering around us and that could potentially result in a bomb blast,” says Billy incredulously. “When we tried busking at Dolmen mall, the management lost their s***, used their walkie-talkies to track us and followed us around until we left. They even tried confiscating our instruments.”

“I remember the girls working at Mango at Dolmen started dancing all around the store and begged us to stay there longer,” says Billy, noting the dichotomous response to their experiment. “I remember once there was this really grim bearded man at the park who stared at us arms-crossed without blinking for a few minutes. We thought ‘oh no, we’re screwed!’ But when the song ended, he broke down and told us how much he loved singing and asked if he could sing an Indian song. That’s when another man saw him and dragged him off for namaz,” laughs Safwan.

In the summer of 2014, I was living in New York when I met Hemal Trivedi. She told me she was making a film about Pakistan and wanted me to join her and the other director, Mohammed Ali Naqvi, to help them craft the narrative authentically.

I had seen dozens of films about Pakistan that were made by foreign filmmakers and honestly, most of them were horribly inaccurate. I felt it was a story worth telling which is why I decided to take the job.

The first step of editing any documentary is to familiarise oneself with the raw footage by reviewing all the tapes. I started with the footage of Maulana Abdul Aziz, whom we knew would be the main character in the film. By the time I became familiar with the footage of all major characters – Dr Pervez Hoobhoy (Aziz’s nemesis), Zarina (a 10-year-old student who dared to run away from Lal Masjid), Zarina’s family, Tariq (founder of the school Zarina joined after madrassa), Talha (student at Lal Masjid), Talha’s father and Aziz’s disciple Shoaib (dean at Lal Masjid) – I became completely isolated with the outside world. I was literally living in those tapes.

After spending over 12 hours with these characters every day, week after week, they had started seeping into my mind, so much so that even my dreams were about them.

Trivedi and I debated over every second and scene of the film. There were times when we spent weeks editing a small scene, trying to capture the nuances of the situation, labouring to show both sides of the picture and be as objective as possible.

Trivedi often used to say, as if reminding herself and not just us,

“I don’t want to make a polemic on Islam.”

But to me it was beyond being respectful to my religion. It was also important to create a balance between emotions and facts in a way that the former did not dilute the latter, and vice versa.

We felt that sticking with Aziz’s call for insurrection was an incomplete and inaccurate portrayal of his character. Showing Aziz’s life journey, his participation in the Afghan war as a young soldier, his father’s murder in front of his eyes, his frequent acts of charity, and the death of his only son, were as important in understanding the man as his decision to challenge the writ of the Pakistani state.

We were working out of Trivedi’s house then and often after exhausting ourselves, we would sit in her porch to take a break and play with her two-year-old son. Having him around reminded us that life was still beautiful, something we had started to forget.

While we were debating on how to show the soft side of Aziz in the safety of Trivedi’s house, the level of horror in the outside world was about to peak. The video of James Foley’s beheading at the hands of the Islamic State (IS) surfaced, and in just a few hours, it had become hard to avoid.

It was impossible for us to continue editing that day.

I had never heard of Foley before but he was a journalist just like me, so in a way, I felt like he was my comrade.  I was outraged at his gruesome murder that had been presented to the whole world as a macabre horror show.

A month later, my professor of Islamic Studies at Karachi University, Shakeel Auj, was murdered in broad daylight. He had been accused of blasphemy by conservative quarters that saw his research as liberal, hence unacceptable. Suddenly, it was difficult for me to portray Aziz in any positive light because there was evidence that pointed towards extremists being involved in Professor Auj’s murder.

It felt like we were living under the dark cloud until we started editing scenes about Talha’s life in the madrassa where the students were forbidden from watching TV. They were diehard fans of Shahid Afridi and yearned to watch cricket. Their only source of entertainment was rain; for when it poured, the boys would run shirtless to the balconies and veranda, drenching themselves in the rain. It was such a beautiful scene, showing that these boys were just innocent children.

Later that day, I was discussing the same scene with Chris McCue, our associate producer and assistant editor. He said,

“Oh man, I wish I could take these kids out for lunch and get them a nice steak.”

I figured this was an American way of starting a new friendship and it stuck with me. I then realised the good this film could potentially do.

Often, we would invite the other director, Naqvi, and a group of other people – fellow filmmakers, journalists, scholars, artists, intellectuals, film enthusiasts and Pakistanis living in New York – to come and watch our rough cuts (work in progress) and share their thoughts.

Everyone felt the endings we came up with were bleak and discouraging. There seemed no logical way to give the story a happy ending. But we kept mulling over our footage, retracing the journey of each character, especially Talha and Zarina, whose lives were caught in Aziz’s war. Eventually, we found a bitter sweet ending that (we later learned) resonated with the audience.

While the Federal Censor Board has banned Among the Believers, it has been shown in over 30 countries in five continents, won multiple awards and honours, including a nomination for an Emmy Award.

I remember a Pakistani filmmaker came to me after watching the documentary and said,

“If I were you, I would not have shown his soft side. I would have simply and very easily painted him as a monster.”

Another Pakistani viewer held the exact opposite opinion on how we should have edited the film. If everyone in the country could view the documentary, I can’t say they would interpret our portrayal of the characters and the film’s actual message. What I know is that so far every Pakistani who has been able to watch this documentary has appreciated our efforts to tell the story truthfully.

It is unfortunate that most Pakistanis cannot be a part of the conversation we had hoped to instigate here, where it would be most thought-provoking, perhaps where it could do the most good.