YES, IT IS LIFE!

Article By: Nida Mahmood A1-S4.

No measure of time can be long enough to achieve perfection in this life, but you can start with forever.

If this world was an amazing place, and life was easier to deal, nobody would enter the world crying. You enter the world cold, weak and helpless, later on it just keeps on getting worse. Life is incomplete without pain and sorrow as they make you realise that happiness should be cherished.

Henry James said, "Sorrow comes in great waves, but rolls over us, and though it may almost smother us, it leaves us. And we know that if it is strong, we are stronger, inasmuch as it passes and we remain."

Similarly, pain is when you fall down and your ankle starts bleeding. The dark red blood oozing out of your veins, flowing and leaving a trail behind it, forces you to wonder that life is very much like a bruise. Like a bruise leaves behind a mark, the past leaves its memories.

It’s like you look at that scar and every action that led to the injury pops up in front of you. The past breaks you and makes you feel sorry for yourself. But there is no use of crying over spilt milk. Hence, in this life, even when tragedies keep surrounding you, if you try to smile at your worst -when your heart is broken into a million little pieces, it means that you have the strength to face this harsh world.

Elbert Hubbard once said, "If you suffer, thank God! It is a sure sign that you are alive."

So, keep your head up, and let the grief get healed by time. For, time keeps on passing, and will not stop for your grief; you only have to find out the way to pass your time. Once you know how to do so, your grief will soon turn into delight.

People wish to make their life as easy as ABC! Discovering what you really want to do with your life isn't an easy task for anyone, nor is it something that you can really create a step-by-step guide for.

To make life easy, you need to get a hold of many things. Learn how to smile, and how to make others smile, to accept your mistakes, to overcome an insult, and to face your fears. Once you learn how to do these things, life will not be that hard to tackle. Thus, you make a life out of what you have, not what you're missing.

Life is when you are struck in dead confusion. Life is when you have nothing to do except eye your ceiling without any hint of the future. Life is when you have hopes and enthusiasm that makes your future look bright and suddenly the world is not such a scary place anymore.

Life is when success sparkles its glitter all over you and your face enlightens with a million-dollar-smile, but still deep down, in the bottom of your heart, there is a pinch of grief resting silently.

Life is like photography, you need the negatives to progress any further. Regrets, mistakes, expectations lay down there in the heart with the covers of slight happiness pulled over. Even if none of these exist, you will still feel the numbness, some emptiness.

Life is much like a rock tour on the road. New problems, challenges, fears, ideas, mistakes mould our personality. One day, you will wake up and realise, the obstacles that hip-hopped in your way, and somehow made you who you are today. Whenever you are having a bad day, just remember, somebody out there is having worst.

Imagine life without failure and dreams. Will you ever be able to realise the importance of success and destiny? I don't think so! This is because our life revolves around these small portions of worldly issues.

Whenever you are deprived or distressed, just try finding the blossomed side of the situation. Every hope and expectation that crashed down rewards you with a lesson which you would cherish throughout your life.

Life is unpredictable. When it gets at its worse, people feel like escaping from the present. But ever wondered that whether you are being a coward by escaping? Will you be in peace after running away? No, because the thought of what could have been will still haunt you and that's when you will realise what life is all about and why you should not have given up!

9 things to do in Winters !

By Irtiqa Sheral

Let’s start with the obvious, winters are here! The morning chill probably tells you that better than me. Considered in some parts of the world e.g. London, a grey and gloomy season, for Karachites, it is a time to rejoice. Finally having been spared from the scorching summer heat, a dreamy and sometimes cruel coolness has engulfed us. The embrace leaves some in romantic sighs, whilst being unwelcome to a few others. Regardless of which group we belong to, we know that every phenomenon is meant to complete its course. As we cannot speed up time’s caravan (nor do we want to for that matter), here are a few exciting things you should definitely do at least once this winter, and make it into one that you’ll feel nostalgic about when recalling.

1. Eat Ice Cream:

Taking things to the extreme is what living on the edge is all about. Though I know eating ice cream may not sound so adventurous, but having mouthfuls of cold ice cream on the chilliest day of this winter is what you have got to try. Give yourself a pat on the back if your throat starts squeaking. And anyways, that kind of voice is so alluring, no? Just in case, your parents find out where that stain on your shirt came from, remember, you don’t know me!

2. Have 'Moom phali' in a blanket:

It’s a tradition to be followed. The feel of a warm blankie draped over you, whilst you are munching down on good old moom phalis with a loved one, is appealing and familiar to many. If you are not one of them, you are missing out on potential soft, touchy memories which will be etched in your minds for a long time.

3. Preserve the environment:

This month, even comparatively indifferent people can evoke a little environmental concern and patriotism by promoting conservation of resources in your own home. So buck up Al Gores! Okay, that may be exaggerating a bit, but whatever it takes to convince you to abandon your air conditioners and reduce if not completely stop your electrical fan use.

4. Spend an entire night on a rooftop with coffee:

Now this, as with many other things, is going to be most fun if done with family or friends. Call for a slumber party and remember to follow its only rule, no slumber! Coffee is going to keep you awake, but there should be other scrumptious snacks to pass around as well. After that, in the words of Salman Khan, “Do whatever you want to do man!” Update statuses about your night, post pictures every five minutes, gaze at the starry sky, gossip, but most importantly, pick on someone and laugh the time away. ( We be nocturnal predators! Haha, get it? I do have better jokes jbtw.)

5. Three B's (Bonfire, Barbecue and Beach):

The above-mentioned three B's are quite popular as ways of celebrating winter. However, when combined they offer the real thrill of the season.

Having a bonfire and barbecue together on the beach will be an experience you’ll want to relish again and again. The sound of the thrashing waves, the sight of a beautiful fire, and the smell of appetizing meat will alone be enough to arouse and satiate your senses.

6. Experience speed:

Experience speed against the coldness all around you. It will make you warm and ecstatic.  All I can say is, it’s a one-of-a-kind feeling. You can do that in several ways e.g. riding a bike or bicycle, or running very fast. Ride the bike carefully (yes, I need to say this) and as for running, you can make it even more enjoyable by racing a friend. Try it!

7. Like I need to tell you what to do in a winter shower:

Ah, winter rains! All I can say in this one is that whenever it trickles or pours, there is much more you can do on the occasion, than just becoming weather broadcasters. (Not that I’m against it. Free world!)

8. Attend a wedding:

This is a must. Winter is the most romantic season of the year, and thus there are lots of weddings taking place in it. Weddings can be boring, but once you let yourself go, you’ll realize there is so much to do in them. Listen to the melodious tunes being played, see the brilliantly choreographed albeit occasional dances, stare at the bride and groom and then comment on how they make or do not make a head-turning couple etc. But most importantly, keeping tradition alive, lunge at all the food you can.  If you are one of those who sadly happen to be invited at no wedding this time around, learn from the movies.

9. Wait for the Pafian Hoodies:

The finalized design is not a personal favorite of some (including me), but we all await it. Talk to your friends and give each other catchy words or nicknames to put at the back. Hopefully, when you complete the above list, the hoodies will have arrived.

Like Me, Like Me Not

Contributed By: Yumna Sohail

As highly demanded 'Facebook' is, the Like button on the social networking site is a very commonly used feature which not only allows users to like content such as status updates, comments, photos, links shared by friends, and even advertisements, but is also a strong way to unmask the popularity of something. As verified, it is a quantitative representation of the way people react to a certain post. Whenever one clicks the 'Like' button, they are able to express that they like, enjoy or support certain content. 

As liked as the 'Like' button is, it would be wrong to undermine the negative externalizations created by its use. With the ever-increasing use of the website, more and more content is being exhibited and growing is the desperation of likes for each of that content. Yes, as lame as it may sound, users of Facebook often look forward to and await maximum possible likes. The more the likes, the greater the satisfaction by the up-loader who, as a result, feels more esteemed. Those who are unable to score high likes are often demotivated and the reverse affect takes place on them. If we analyse the broader effects of the issue, it creates two distinct virtual species, those whom are highly liked and those whom are just average. 

This in turn promotes a materialistic attitude. People want to be in possession of those things which are highly liked. A more earthly-minded and secular culture is developed as people seek more worldly pleasures. Of course, it is part of human nature to want attention, to be loved and admired and the likes achieved on Facebook represent this in quantitative information.

Nevertheless, there are many positive aspects of the 'Like' button which are none less significant. Facebook serves as a platform where users are able to express and voice their opinions and beliefs. A 'Like' on a status or a picture exhibits support for the person and a set of common interests develop. This leads to friendship and can brighten up the day of a person. A 'Like' on a picture by someone special can bring a smile on the person's face and generate further happiness. We have become so accustomed to this 'Like' button that the use of Facebook without it would seem rather pointless and tedious. 

Battle of the Bands - PAF Style

Thursday, 21 November, 2013

The view greeting us at school. ^_^

One of the most beautiful days Karachi had seen in a long time. Fog had covered the city in its mystical veil. Though the day started off with a rather unpleasant note, as all of us got a beating from Miss Shireen (why can we just not stop disappointing her?), we had something to look forward to. The Music society had organized an original Battle of the Bands, in collaboration with the Chapter Studios. While some people were not excited about the event, others were ecstatic! The bands had been practicing for the battle since a long time in order to take the winning title home.

So I was asked to host the event (Since Faizan Khalid was not in school and I was being too hyper before the event started, Osaid asked me if I could do the honours alongside Ariba Shahid and Rabia Waseem). The Outreach Society made good use of the event as they charged Rs.10 as an entry ticket price for the Battle of the Bands.a

So the battle started! Judging the bands, we had Sir Ali Rehman, Sir Denis, Sir Suleman and our very own Osaid Tabrez. First up we had the AS perform. Mustafa Naveed and his guy Taha Baig went up first. Believe me I was personally so very proud of the two young men. Their song choices and skill amazed not just me but a lot of the people sitting there as an audience. Then we had Fahad and Muhammad Waseem who went next. Was the audience thrilled with this performance! The way these guys had mixed the songs together, Grenade with this song by Strings the Band (I don't remember it *hides face*), Waseem's beat boxing at the end of the National Anthem gave their performance a profound end leaving everyone with their jaws dropped. Last but not the least we had Omar Ishaq and Shayan Riyaz. Shayan rocked the drums while Omar was rocking out the guitar with his exceptionally good vocals. Once the AS had finished with their performances we had the A2s taking the stage next after everyone took a fifteen minutes break.

During the fifteen minutes break I had gone out to take a stroll down to the counselor's office with my football coach Sir Waleed Sherdil. Though like Miss Naureen, the birthday girl that day, had said we will take more than fifteen minutes to return was right. I got back in time to listen to Mariam Tariq's beautiful cover of 'Because of You'. Up next was Rida Siddique with Rahim Rasool on the keyboard. This girl left us all speechless. The notes she hit, the way she sang, Masha'Allah is all I could think of while she was performing. Last to take centre stage from the A2 bloc were Sofia Noreen and Ali Nasir Rehmani. This girl has some vocals man!

Before the results were announced, on great public demand, our brilliant Paul Naqvi, Osaid Tabrez and Rabia Waseem were asked to perform for us. It is always a pleasure to listen to these people, no wonder they are the heads for the society. They are simply incredible and blessed with abundant talent which is extraordinary. So the results were disclosed....

THE A2s WON THE BATTLE OF THE BANDS!

That is mostly what everyone needs to know. I'm only joking of course, the AS both secured second and third places. Congratulations to everyone who participated and managed to do so very well.
Keep making us proud everyone!

This was Hiba Khan, reporting not live from her underground study dungeon.

A Battle Worth Waging

Written by:
Raza Abbas
Batch of 2013

10th of Muharram, I reached the procession at Numaish, found that 3 prime worship places are full of people so I found a place at a Sunni Mosque, prayed and listened to the sermon. It talked about the reasons of the sacrifice at Karballa.

There at Rawalpindi, the same sermon, insults Imam Hussain, and to my utter astonishment the people who were there to mourn the sacrifice of Karballa were seen battling the members of a certain Madrassa with stones/bullets being hurled at either side.

Hours later, the cloth market was torched, the Madrassa became a victim of fire too, 3 Imam Bargah's at different places in RWP were torched. Now, I have been coming across pictures of brutal assassinations that the media never showed, but thanks to the Google Image search, the pictures were of Syria, Libya and Palestine.

Having grown up in an environment that has taught me to respect others' beliefs and rituals, I fail to understand why exactly we have stooped so low. I won't support any side, at the end of the day soon funds will be collected to build the Madrassa up again, the Imam Bargahs and to fund the families who suffered any loss. But sadly, we would not collect funds for intellectual upbringing and sacrifice.

Welcome to Pakistan. A country that finds it pretty easy to blame every downfall on some American or Israeli agency but forgets to practice the same religion it loves to die upon.

Dear God, teach our people the message of Hussain, teach our people the message of Sahaba, teach our people the message of none but yours. And if we fail to learn, make the west or any country we blame attack us, kill us, cut us into pieces. This way, at least the historians will call our nation killed by foreigners rather than the ones who killed each other, burned each other and blamed the west.

In the end, I request you all to save a minute out of scrolling, pray for the people who died, think about how we can be better a Muslim, a better Pakistani. Let's stop sharing pictures of burnt prayer places. Lets extinguish the fire in our hearts.

“Peace is the only battle worth waging” - Albert Camus
May God guide us all. 

Competition

Written by: Ramsha Ekhlaque

Class: A1C4

Edited by: Marziya Farooq A1-C1

I caught a glimpse of the perfect angel lying beside me, lost in a deep slumber. She reminded me of days long gone. Back when all I received was appreciation and praise. It is said that perfection is an impossibility; however, they would say that If not perfect I was the next best thing. Back then, I was the victim of envious looks from my friends and family. My thick long hair, fair complexion, high cheekbones, and heart shaped hazel eyes, all these features held the power of capturing whoever laid eyes on me. Nature did not forget to add brains to beauty. From being the best debater to an A grader to an exceptional athlete, I was the jack-of-all-trades. The world would revolve around me and I believed it would never end.

I achieved everything one would ever desire for; an excellent education, a loving husband who would shower me with affection and a fulfilling job. Every time I would enter a public place on the arm of my husband, we would become the centre of attention. My husband would puff his chest and walk briskly with pride.

Then ‘she’ arrived. The day the nurse place her in my arm, I did not feel any immediate connection or affection towards her. It was like any other day to me. They say motherhood is the best experience for a woman but to me, it was just an unneeded responsibility. The first hint of a competition arose when my husband said that she had my eyes. Then gradually people started telling me that she was an exact replica of me. Slowly but surely it dawned on me that she was turning into a great beauty. The competition for attention gave birth to a furious monster within me. I was not willing to share my title of perfection with anyone, not even my own blood.

Then onward I made it my mission to crush whatever confidence instilled in her that could lead her to the spotlight which I alone deserved. She would bring home 9/10 and I would torment her for the lone mark she did not achieve. She did her best to make me proud but I refused to act satisfied. Her spirit and spark started to fade but the praises never stopped. They kept comparing her to me and I could not take it anymore. I needed it to end.

Therefore, I stole a look at her again. Only that now the rhythmic beating of the chest had gone. Then I looked at the pillow in my hands and smiled. I had destroyed my competition. 

The Great Sacrifice

Written by:
Rida Noor
A2C3

It was peak the of mischief with virtues in chains;
Just laws were sacked with rules insane;
As the tyrants on the rise, and the masses confused,
offered lust with lies, and faith abused.

Thus the signs indicated, and time dictated.
Some souls elevated as Al-Hussain (A.S) navigated;
a seed of Prophet (PBUH) and the sight of his parents,
that time in deluge, he was ark so apparent
.

In the Name of Allah, for the sake of Islam;
for the freedom of life and soul of Islam;
gave the greatest sacrifice, but not his hands,
with the members of his kin and many of his friends.

With a message from his father was Qasim bin Hassan (A.S);
a radiant jewel of Islam was this glowing young son;
but Qasim into  pieces with a bride day old;
on the sand in heat it was savage and cold.

Fell Abbas (A.S) from the horse, with no hands for resort;
then Al-Hussain (A.S) rushed to shore as his brother’s last resort,
those children who waited with patience were told;
and the thirst in the camp was three days old.

Soon Akbar came down with a spear in his chest;
which a father had to pull so severe was the test;
He was the image of Prophet (PBUH), and the life of Al-Hussain (A.S)
He was the vision of a mother and the eyes of Al-Hussain (A.S)

Ali Asghar (A.S) went to sleep, with his father and no fear;
with the crade on fire, and their head on a spear;
and the mother’s empty hand, with tear dried eyes,
who looked for the baby to sing lullabies.

And Syeda Zainab (A.S) saw the horror of this trip;
as a knife tore the neck, where the Prophet  (PBUH) used to put his lips;
Earth in grief, roared Heavens and mourned,
the sand turned red when Hussain (A.S) was torn.

And Sakina full of tears with her tiny bleeding ears,
bruises on her face and thirst so severe;
She ran for her father who laid beheaded,
and cried for her uncle for help she needed.

Then the camp pushed down, while flames went up;
little children rushed out, as their dresses lit up;
it was a night full of cries and innocent quests;
shattered were their dreams and broken were their nests.

All defense laid to rest, after trials and tests;
left to face, one Imam, even history would detest,
who fainted with illness, faced torture and torment;
a Master of the pious and devotees’ ornament.

Lashes on his back heavy chains on Imam;
but ladies were the prisoners, was the wound of Imam;
No chador for them but their rope tied arms;
and grief soared high from Kufa to Shaam.

But, the daughter of Ali (A.S) challenged, miseries with the messages;
with the families in bazaars, and deadly courts of savages,
With the depth of the patience and the Zenith of Bravery;
Islam was rescued for ever from slavery.

One Last Glance

By Haniya Ahmed

A bolt of lightning spread across the sky and she heard the power lines struck down. With a loud crack she stood up, left her dreams incomplete and she was awake. The room was dark, except a little light peeping inside through the window. She fell asleep then. It was 7:00 a.m. in the morning, and this time, not the lightening, but a howl had awakened her. No sign of Jack, her son!

Simon, her husband, was on a business tour his aim was to be as successful as he can be, and to be wealthier than his brother. She hated the way Simon was always jealous of his brother-Will.

"No eggs....I need to find Jack...perhaps I'll have to go to Mr. Wills." She reached the elevator and pressed" GROUND FLOOR" She knocked at the door once...twice...thrice...after which she could feel something hot, burning hot touching her cold feet. Her heart pounded fast as she looked at the dark red blood. She turned the lock and was baffled to see Jack sitting alone. "Oh God! Is everything------" she was interrupted by her son. "Mom look back" her son said.

She was paralyzed as she saw the body lying in an unusual way, blood dripping from every part of his face-the face of Mr. Wills. Unable to think anything, she went up to her apartment, went deep into her thoughts and tried to think clearly. She was brought back to life by the turning of the keys of the other room.

"Amanda! I’m home" Simon cried, smiling.

"Your only brother....the only brother you had....is dead." She said. Simon gave her a shocking look and shouted “What? Are you crazy?" His mouth wide open.

She knew it was her job, being a detective, she knew what she had to do. Holding his hand she took him to Wills' apartment where Jack was still examining his uncle's body. There was no weapon....not a single one. Perhaps the murderer had taken it away. That day she was unable to sleep. Simon would be so sad, she thought, he lost the only brother he ever had.

She was startled when she realized that Simon wasn’t there. In the depth of the night, where could he have been? To look for him, she ran to the elevator and pressed "GROUND FLOOR" After 2 seconds, her heart raced as she realized the elevator had stopped in between the floors. She felt as if she would depart from this life and no one would ever know...

But as the elevator moved, it seemed as if someone had put life into a dead person. Getting out of the elevator quickly, she noticed that Wills' door was slightly open, that was when she realized someone came to his room in the depth of this horrifying night. Someone who came to make sure he cleared all the clues that went against him.

A smile crossed her face; she knew there was no clue, except for one, which was not present at the time when she first investigated the room. She stepped out of the apartment building, the moon shone with an ominous glow. Sounds of frogs croaking and crickets chirping made her look back to the lonely building. Since a very long time she knew Simon didn’t like Will, because of his abilities to earn more and being able to live a life that every person desires. She thought about the day she was married to Simon and when Jack was born. She remembered the times when Mr. Will would bring gifts for Jack and when he would play with him in his free time. Nothing but memories surrounded her and she felt like she was being torn apart. 

It was 9:00 am in the morning now. "Amanda where is my cell phone?" Simon looked confused. "How would I know? You must have left it....somewhere" She replied. "Where? Oh....yes.....umm" He tried to remember. She went closer to him "Thanks to me dear, I found it.." she smiled.

And as she handed the only thing she found at Wills' apartment. She knew she was standing against a murderer. She knew she had to hide this truth forever to save her husband, to save the man she loved. How far would you go to save the person you love? She asked herself. She knew what she was doing was against her job but she had no other choice. She wanted to forget whatever happened and live a normal life because she was too afraid to lose Simon and she knew Jack can never live without him.

Unexpectedly, a smile pierced Simon’s face into two. She was not prepared to die....but this did not stop the blade from digging into her chest, her back, her cheek. It happened so suddenly that she wasn’t able to gather her thoughts and realize what he is up to. She wanted to tell him that it doesn’t matter, she wanted him to know that she won’t let anyone know, that she would hide his bitter reality.

She weakened; gasped through her sliced neck for one more breathe....just one more glance of her clever husband.

The Last Straw

By: Muslim Shower ( I am in love with this person )

It was an iconic moment in world history. The stakes were greater than they had ever been. It was no longer about politics or economics. It wasn’t about popularity. In fact, everything that had been important before seemed almost pointless. This was about survival, nothing else. The human race depended upon the success of this meeting. The value of this meeting didn’t fail to dawn on anybody. Humanity waited. Or at least what was left of it. Waited in deep caverns, praying to whatever deity they believed in. For the first time in human history, all of humanity was one. One soul, one body, one goal. They had lost hope, all of them. Presidents, politicians, men of god, all of them. They knew they had been defeated. No power on earth could save them now, they had been sure. Amidst the death-knells that were ringing all over the world there had emerged a ray of light, one tiny hope, a glimmer. But it was enough. All humanity grabbed it like a child holding his mother. It was their last hope. The fate of humanity would soon be sealed.

The tragedy had struck like a viper. Fast, unannounced, fatal. One fine night, a night just like any other, they had descended upon Earth. Everywhere, all at once. An army. An army greater than any army humans had ever imagined, both in numbers and power. By morning, they were everywhere. Dark blue with long hair they were, each larger than an elephant with faces that bred fear into the heart of men. They killed everything they could find. Men, animals, plants. Everything. By the time humans realized what was happening, it was too late. They had won even before the war had begun. What remained of humanity was clutches of settlements, hidden far away from sight. Within mountains mostly. For months, humans survived in hiding. Avoiding being caught. Every day the number of humans decreased. The aliens, they knew that some were still alive. It was only a matter of time though. Eventually, all would be killed. They weren’t in a hurry. Nobody knew what to do. And then, a hope was whispered. Silently. There were whispers of a wise man who lived. A wise man who could have the solution.

This wise man lived in a mountain in Pakistan. A very old man but his knowledge was like the sea, it was said. All the human settlements met in one place. A search party was made. This wise man had to be found! The task was given to commander Palla. And now, after weeks of trekking his team had found him. There he sat, in an empty cave secluded from the world. Hidden from all manners of life. Old, weak, alone, but wise. ‘Ah, you’re finally here’, he said in a voice that sent shivers down the spine of the bravest men. ‘I have been waiting for you. I knew you’d come, eventually’ he said, not particularly talking to any singular individual. ‘Yes.. we’ve been trying to find you.. for a very long time’ said Commander Palla, shaking, clearly affected by the aura of the wise man. ‘And, what is it that you seek, Shahzaid Palla?’ everybody was taken back. Nobody knew the first name of the commander, not even his closest friends. He asimply went by ‘commander’. ‘We seek a means for redemption. A means to defeat the enemy, a means to save humanity. We understand you know of a way that can save us’. The wise man turned around. If his aura disturbed the people, his face petrified them. He had a long white beard that touched his knees. He stood with the help of a stick. But it was eyes that were frightening. There were no eyeballs. It was as if, his eyes had been burned out of their socket.

‘Ahh, so you seek a weapon, a weapon more powerful than anything ever created by man. Yet, you came to an old man in a sullen cave! Why?’ In that moment, panic struck commander Palla. Their endeavor may have been fruitless. This man may not have anything. Yet he calmed himself and replied ‘we believe you are aware of a weapon once made. A weapon so powerful it almost destroyed all of earth. So tell us, can you help us?’ There was a moment of silence. Everybody waited in anticipation. The fate of humanity depended upon what the wise man would say next. Nails were bitten, breathing was coarse. An infinity passed before the old man said ‘Yes, I can help you but what I have is no weapon. A weapon has a trigger, a direction, a limit to its destruction. What I have is infinite destruction. Be warned, thousands of humans would die too. And it would be painful death’.

Nobody said a thing. Silence permeated the cave like a curse. The wise man spoke again ‘In the land that we stand in, the land of Pakistan, a video was once released. A video made by a man named Taher Shah. It was brutal. Whoever saw it, his eyes burned. His ears melted like a piece of plastic in fire. Almost everybody was killed. Only those that had previously seen Justin Bieber, Rebecca black or Awais Lovely survived and even those people lost their eyes. Like me. There was nothing like it. People died every day. Eventually, we sought copies of the video and destroyed each and every one of them. Except one. One still remains. We buried it. In anticipation of a day like this. We buried it deep within the mountains. Far from where any man could reach it. If you want to save this planet, seek that video. Play it on the sky. So that everything on earth can see it. Make the wind carry the sound. The aliens would burn into ashes. All of them. The brutality of that video would be too much for them. Some humans would die too, all would be blinded but the human race would survive’.

Commander Palla drew a huge breath, astounded by what he was listening to. A video? One video? He wondered. An infinite questions aroused in his mind, what was so horrible about the video? Who was this Taher Shah? Why had he never heard of this before? Commander Palla was an experienced man, he knew he didn’t want to know the answer to these questions but as he was thinking, almost as if reading his mind, the wise man said ‘It was unlike anything man had ever seen. It was frightening. Mothers hid their children, trying to protect them but it was of no use. The sound, the sound was too much to handle. It penetrated everything. It burned the soul. Oh, what horrors it brought about!’ The wise man said with disgust! ‘The worst part was the video. I am grateful I had been subjected to Justin Bieber before otherwise I would have died, as my whole family did. All of them. Burned to ashes, they flew away with the wind. The same happened to most of my friends’.

Commander Palla and his man listened to the wise man’s story and shuddered with fear. The next step, they realized was to come face to face with this hideous monster. They were going to unleash it on the world. As soon as they got the directions to the mountain where this tape was buried, the search party hurried out of the wise man’s cave. All of them immediately called their families and told them to subject to the brutal torture of Justin Bieber to save their lives!

**************************

The Essence of Love

Love! A philosophical phenomenon, 

Existing immaturely on earth, 

Dwelling in the fantasy world.

Flowing out of heavens, beautiful! 

Rushing violently in a solemn soul, 

..A Philosophical Phenomenon

Taking a breath away on every gush.

Pure! In all its ways of expression, 

Words influenced by poetics, and;

Symbolism shadows the thoughts.

Lost in the love of the lover, inseparable! 

Seeking pleasure in being a shadow, 

Walking the life with an influenced identity.

Mystical! Mesmerizing form of meditation,
Irrationality captivates the emotions,
Soothes and consoles, yet all vibrant.

Huma Shoukat A1-S3

Hoodies, hoodies everywhere.

The Hoodie Dilemma ails PAF Chapter

Sakina Abbas A1C4

“When will we get our hoodies? Winters are just round the corner! What if we do not get them in time? Gosh, I will freeze to death.” No exaggeration there, but really. Every A2 student I have come across, be it in the school premises or over Facebook, has been saying this.

Yes, so winters are just round the corner and just like every other year, this year too, the A2’s will be getting there hoodies. Work over the designs of these hoodies began way back in October. Multifarious samples were submitted to Mr. Jalebi, out of which, six best ones were shortlisted and posted on the PAF Chapter’s Blog. This is when it all began. This is when the emotions of A2’s oozed out. Some seemed happy and contented with the designs, while some were just depressed and whined and argued, simply because no one would take their word. They could feel their world collapse when their favored design would not be encouraged by the rest of their batch mates, or the supporters of the designs posted. The A2’s expressing their grief, sorrow or happiness is very much understandable. But the AS expressing such emotions? Well, that is beyond my comprehension. They are not even going to get these hoodies this year! Why are they being sensitive about this hoodie dilemma? It is just as if they are standing in an isolated, barren desert, with dry winds blowing and dust balls scampering and bouncing about, and they are shouting at the top of their lungs. So what exactly are they doing? Protesting! To who? The dry wind and the active dust balls. The point being, the AS simply made a laughing stock of themselves and gave the audience a reason to enjoy the serious comments of the A2’s, on the posts.

As I mentioned earlier, the sole reason for this hoodie dilemma among the A2’s was due to the design and the colour combinations. Pictures of hoodies with colour combinations including blue, red, green, black and grey were posted. While on the other hand, the mutual designs were that of ‘Chapter’ typography, flamingos, the School’s monogram, name of the hoodie bearer, and words like PAF and batch of 2014. Generally, everyone had their own perceptions and everyone wanted some alteration or the other. The most interesting arguments, however, were regarding the flamingos and ‘PAF’. According to some boys of the A2’s, flamingos seemed too feminine and hence they were an infringement of their gender. They eventually got the poor flamingos removed from the hoodie sample. Racism against animals? (if that is even possible). Apart from the flamingo issue, there was a 'PAF' issue, as some believed that PAF would simply represent Pakistan Air Force and people would think it is a Pakistani Air Force hoodie, rather than PAF Chapter’s hoodie. Now I would pay my highest regards to these people because they are just too thoughtful and emotionally attached to PAF Chapter. Of course, people would be unable to notice the School’s monogram so they will jump right to the conclusion that it indeed, is a Pakistan Air Force hoodie. Very thoughtful of these people. Hats off to them!

Furthermore, since there were many samples to choose from, the majority favoured the red and black hoodie. But to their disappointment, it turned out that IBA had already chosen a red and black coloured hoodies for the following winter. This really upset the A2’s, and why should it not? It brought their hopes down. But nonetheless, Mr. Jalebi posted two navy blue samples, and everyone unanimously agreed with the colour. However, they still had disagreements over the design. The never ending disagreements. This seemed like just another Kashmir issue, where they would argue and argue, but would not reach to an agreement. So it was quite evident that they wanted a very personalized hoodie. Mr. Jalebi was already putting in his best efforts to try to satisfy everyone. What else could he do? Publish a handsome picture of the hoodie bearer at the hoodie’s back? Yes, this would have been a good decision. Everyone would have been instantly pleased.

These discussions, arguments and exhibition of feelings and emotions prolonged for approximately one entire month. Since not much could be made out of these arguments, Mr. Jalebi intervened and announced the final hoodie sample. Following this, Ms. Shireen Karamally made some alterations to the sample, and the final one was put up on PAF Chapter’s blog, at the end of October. Surprisingly, every A2 student was happy with this design. Now that, indeed, was a joyous moment. Heartiest congratulations to all the A2’s out there. Never in my life have I witnessed such happiness. The Kashmir issue is finally solved!

With the final design out, orders are soon to be placed for these much awaited hoodies for the batch of 2014. I must say the navy blue colour is a pretty good to look at. The hoodies play a pivotal role in the life of the A2s students at The PAF Chapter. They shall forever remain with them and will be a token of remembrance for them no matter which part of the world they go to, thus making the disagreements inevitable for they just want the best for their last year at the A-levels section. I hope they look as good in real as they do in the design.

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THE FINAL DESIGN FOR THE 2014 BATCH.

The Street Child.

Written by: Syeda Amna Zubia

A tear squeezed out of the corner of his eye, mingling with the sweat on his bronzed cheek it rolled down the curve of his thin neck before it finally disappeared into the darkness of his torn jute kurta. His eyes looked upward beseechingly, hands outspread and waiting until disappointment darkened the hazel and the long lashes turned away. He plodded back to the betel-stained sidewalk and kneeling, he took a swig from his bottle of water; the water was murky and smelling excessively of chlorine. Head bowed down, he wept again.

Day after day, he wandered through the streets of Karachi, sticking to traffic intersections and commercial areas where the money came relatively easy.  Every night he set himself a bed in one of the dark alleys or the sidewalk, whichever suited his liking and wherever he got tired and didn’t want to keep walking on. He tried to keep changing his station every two or three days for he had learned it wasn’t wise to get too acquainted with any of the other street tramps. He had learned that it was not only the beggars who stole your money. And while the beggars stole it when you were asleep, the big, burly people in the big, black cars, twirling their big bushy moustache did not need to wait that long. He had learned a lot of little things in his thirteen years, some tricks which seemed trivial at first but actually turned out to help him survive in this strange life.

He looked up again; wiping his tears he surveyed his surroundings. It had gotten dark and everyone has started packing up for the day. The sabziwala was covering his stall as little kids swarmed it, hoping for a half-rotten fruit the vendor might discard so that they could fill their growling, empty bellies. Hawkers, with all sorts of little nothings spread on their sheets, called out to the hopeful customers with new vigour, in the aim of earning a little more before they left for the night. Small boys ran from car to car with gajras –jasmine flower bracelets, determined to not waste any. The beggars too were now retiring for the night, blending into the stream of pedestrians along the sidewalk. Picking up his water bottle, he too joined the flow.

He turned into a dark alleyway, choosing a shortcut he often used to avoid familiar faces. It brought him straight onto the wide main road which ran through most of the city. Sometimes he stuck to it for days, and it would transport him to all sorts of neighbourhoods in this great city. He found it strange how one path could connect so many different people, so many different places, the diversity in the way the houses were built and the people who lived in them.

Picture Courtesy: theviewspaper.net

He quickened his pace, eager to get to his favourite haunt before it was occupied by someone else. . True, it was just a rundown, wooden shack, with a torn, stiff pillow and a threadbare rug to protect him from the evening chill that often descended upon Karachi. But it was much more than many others got, and it was still better than a night on the cold hard sidewalk. Humming a tune he had picked up from the public buses, he skipped along the gravel like a happy schoolgirl, the little stones crunching under his worn leather slippers. There could have been nothing more important to him then than reaching his little shack soon and settling in for a good night’s sleep.

As he neared his little hut, a reclining figure under the lone streetlight at the junction ahead caught his attention and he slowed his pace, making his way towards it. In the dim yellow light, he made out the slender body of a woman, long hair cascading around her on the concrete. He went closer and bent over her, until he was able to see her face clearer, and he made out the sharp angles and sunken cheeks. The light made her skin appear almost translucent and on the corner of her mouth…

He stopped.

   …His earliest memory is of a woman. He was too young back then to know, but by now, he’s figured she was extraordinarily pretty, with a straight nose, high prominent cheekbones and fair skin, slightly browned by the sun. Her almond-shaped eyes always rimmed by kohl, eyelashes so thick they didn’t need mascara. Her light brown hair was tinged with red and glowed golden in the sunlight. She always wore it the same way, and pinned her dupatta into the long braid down her back, bringing up the ends of the cloth and tucking them under the straps of her bra.

She used to hold him close, protectively, against herself. And whenever she was confused or deep in thought, she would furrow her perfectly arched eyebrows, pull in her lower lip under a perfect white tooth and bite at the small star-shaped mole on the corner of her mouth, the very same mole he was staring at just now.

She was a constant presence in all his early memories, but as he grew up into a toddler she disappeared.  Sometimes he had sudden flashbacks of a strange night; raunchy grins and lewd looks, glass bangles on a slender wrist, breaking, shattering on the ground. High-pitched screams; abruptly smothered, motorbikes revving up. A muslin dupatta discarded on the street, gathering dirt, blowing away in the night breeze.

As he knelt beside her, he turned her face towards himself and studied every feature on her famished face, every line on her pale skin and every wrinkle of the crow’s feet which had appeared around her fatigued eyes. The cracked, dry lips, though stained a deep red, drew in raspy breaths, struggling to get air into the battered body. Unscrewing his bottle of water, he wet her mouth a little at a time. He tried covering her up with the torn saari, hands fumbling, and his eyes stinging with hot tears as he saw what had become of her. He pulled off his kurta to hide the bruises which blossomed red, yellow and black on the smooth white skin. Her bones jutted out awkwardly, as if she would be better off without any.

His tears splashed onto the pavement and onto her face, rousing her, a bewildered look entering her eyes. Upon seeing the child, she at once she took up a guarded behavior, cautiously surveying him and his actions. She had just begun to speak when she realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. And was even more puzzled when she saw where it was. She regarded him more closely, and when their eyes met, she recognized the glow she saw in them, the shine they attain when they have acquired something long lost, the same glow she saw reflected from her own.

Silently, mother and son clung to each other, as for the time, words had elapsed. In that one embrace, they tried to pour the longing and the love from all those years wasted. The race to a comfortable bed was paltry as compared to the comfort he obtained from her, for several years to come.

As his mother held him close, protectively against herself, he could not help but think how silly he was to be wasting time over such matters of inconsequence, when his real destiny had awaited. He was blinded by the lights and bustles of everyday life and had become a part of the system, the vicious cycle which trapped within it all aspects of human life, monotony prevailing above them all. But now as he held his mother so close, his own flesh and blood, he learned the dependence of humans upon others. Because despite all achievement, despite the importance of being liberated, this is what truly matters, the bond of humanity.

Picture courtesy: Sara Khazem.

The much awaited Welcome'13

Review submitted by: Ali Sufyan Ghauri

I’m not the first, neither am I the last to write about our welcome-cum-melody- night-cum-talent-show, but It is an honor to be writing here’.

The party started late, but then all of them do, so no worries. I think our ghair-wali-shlawar-clad Headboy was probably welcoming everyone at the gate. He met me, and hugged me. Earlier in the evening, most people were content to stay out of the tent, meeting their long lost friends. 
Some were doing group selfies too in the... Never mind. All of us know where :D. No one was okay with just a handshake; people were hugging each other like they might not meet them again. The whole tent was adequately set up. Lighting was also good, but the photographers were complaining about poor lighting. Please crank up your ISO :P

Since I’m a noob at Chapter, I don’t know quite a lot of people, and don’t tend to remember their names, so keep those rotten eggs safe and sound somewhere. Shamoon bhai was the first to perform and as always delivered a poem which was both inspirational and fun to listen to. Then there were singing performances. The fact that these people prepared in a day or two, makes me believe that if once the Pafians intend to do something, they accomplish it no matter what :D

Marium Tariq while performing up on the stage

Faizan Khalid, I don’t know where to begin for you. Ap bohat reserved thay during the whole program. Samajh tou gaye hongey ap :D You kept telling about a certain play between you and Usaid, but after an hour passed, I felt that it wasn’t coming up but then it did, and well ‘First of all thanks to Allah, the boys played very well...’ Our Headgirl and Deputy Headgirl were certainly not the centre of attention before, but they will be from now. Humaari Roohafzah and Jaam-e-shireen... :D

Some moments clicked :D

Fast forward, from Faizan’s side-splitting comments about everyone he saw, including humarey Sir Ejaz, to the arrival of Usaid Tabrez with Miss Shireen, all of it together made up an amazing event. Well done Usaid. Once again, you are one of the shining stars of Chapter. Without you and Faizan, the Welcome party would just have been a party, with people taking selfies and having food then going home. Both of you put up an insanely hilarious play. You guys revealed to us the homorous side of our council. 

I would like to highlight the changes your play might bring:

1. Fatima may start wearing invisible heels to be seen properly during Assembly.
2. Waleed Khan will start doing more pushups and lift heavier dumbbells because he hasn’t got biceps.
3. Ashad or Bilal ka breakup ho jayega.
4. Hiba will be found at Berlitz, wait Berli’z, trying to pronounce T and S.

There were a lot of people arriving in black suits. These People In Black were coming from ZABMUN. Not even remotely interested in the party around them, they were more into moderating each other’s caucuses. Most were vividly describing how the other country’s position papers were like mini-skirts and – you get my point.

And next – light gayi :D

Search for Usaid, commencing.

Search for Usaid, commenced.

Usaid not found.

Retrying.

Usaid not found.

Retrying.

Usaid found.

Coordinates: Grab the uniform moving near the stage.

Roger that.

Later there were several dance performances :D The next performances were equally awesome, with the substitute guy doing the football juggling with every part of his body.

Fast forward to dinner. I know I’ve completely missed out Usaid’s performance, but with a rumbling stomach, even Faizan was sounding lame :P Usaid’s solo was AH-MAZING :D Afterall he is our 'Ubharra hoa sitara' now. 

Humara woh sitara jo ubhar chuka :')

Now fast forward to dinner. Biryani, chicken karhai, chicken shashlik, gulaab jaman, and naan to remind those who have forgotten what they had eaten. Miss Shireen was inspecting ever table, sharing her precious words for the overflowing plates, not that there were many.

I thought that with dinner the party would be over, but there were still two performances to go, one of them featuring Mustafa Naveed. And there was a Welcome video too, prepared by very talented Fuzz and his team.

Well, group photos are an order on such occasions. None of the PAFIANs were left out, some of them roaring unnecessarily at the camera, which is another fact that perturbs me since these photos are supposed to show you rather than make you heard of. :P

Our headmistress the lovely Ms.Shireen with a few As students

To sum it all, the whole occasion was well planned, no glitches whatsoever. Looking forward to it next year :D