Saturday, September 19, 2026

WHY YOU SHOULD TOUCH GRASS BEFORE GRASS TOUCHES YOUR PATIENCE

MUHAMMAD IBRAHIM MAHTAB
mahtabbashir@gmail.com
0333 53 63 248
ISLAMABAD


There are many great questions that humanity has attempted to answer throughout history. Scientists have asked how the universe began. Philosophers have wondered what makes a good life. Historians have studied the rise and fall of civilizations. Mathematicians have spent centuries trying to solve difficult problems. And yet, in the modern digital age, one question has become increasingly important:

When was the last time you touched grass?

At first, this question might sound ridiculous. After all, grass is simply grass. It grows outside. It is green. It gets cut by lawnmowers. People walk on it, sit on it, play sports on it, and occasionally complain about having to mow it. Why would something so ordinary deserve an entire essay?

The answer is that “touching grass” has become much more than literally placing your hand on a patch of lawn. In modern slang, telling someone to “touch grass” is usually a humorous way of telling them to step away from the internet and reconnect with the real world. It suggests that someone may have spent too much time online, arguing about pointless topics, scrolling endlessly, playing games for hours, or becoming overly invested in things that do not matter nearly as much outside the digital environment.

However, beneath the joke is a surprisingly useful idea.

Human beings were not designed to spend every waking moment staring at glowing rectangles. Technology has transformed the way we communicate, learn, work, entertain ourselves, and understand the world. Smartphones, computers, tablets, televisions, and gaming systems have made life more convenient in countless ways. 

The internet allows people to communicate across enormous distances within seconds. Students can find educational information almost instantly. Artists can share their work with audiences around the world. Games can create entire virtual worlds. Videos can teach people skills that once required expensive classes. Technology itself is not the enemy.

The problem begins when the digital world becomes so dominant that the physical world starts feeling like an interruption.

Going outside can provide a necessary balance. Walking through a park, sitting under a tree, playing a sport, riding a bicycle, talking with friends, or simply standing in the sunlight can remind us that life is happening beyond our screens. Nature gives us something that a digital environment cannot completely reproduce: physical presence.

This does not mean everyone must become an outdoor enthusiast. Nobody needs to climb mountains every weekend, go camping for three days, or become a professional gardener. Sometimes “touching grass” can be as simple as stepping outside for ten minutes.

The purpose of going outside is not to reject technology. It is to remember that technology is a tool, not an entire universe.

Therefore, touching grass should not merely be viewed as an insult thrown at someone who has spent too much time online. It can be understood as a reminder to maintain balance, appreciate the physical world, move our bodies, interact with other people, and give our minds a break from the endless stream of digital information.

In other words, perhaps we should all touch grass once in a while.

Chapter One: What Does “Touch Grass” Actually Mean?

Before explaining why people should touch grass, it is important to understand what the phrase means.

Literally, “touching grass” means exactly what it sounds like. You go outside, find some grass, and touch it. Congratulations. You have completed the mission.

However, modern internet culture has given the phrase a second meaning. When someone tells another person to “touch grass,” they usually do not care whether that person physically touches a blade of grass. The phrase is symbolic.

It means:

Go outside. Take a break. Experience real life. Stop worrying about the internet for a moment.

The phrase is often used when somebody becomes extremely emotionally invested in an online argument or spends an enormous amount of time discussing something that most people outside the internet would consider unimportant.

Imagine two people arguing online for six hours about which fictional character would win in a fight.

Person A says Character X would win.

Person B says Character Y would win.

They produce dozens of arguments.

They search for evidence.

They create charts.

They insult each other's intelligence.

They write increasingly complicated explanations.

Eventually, someone watching the argument might reasonably say:

“Guys, please touch grass.”

This does not necessarily mean the argument is evil or that discussing fictional characters is bad. It simply means that the argument has become disproportionate to its importance.

This is one of the interesting things about the phrase. It is humorous because it contrasts the enormous importance people sometimes give to online events with how insignificant those events might seem in the physical world.

Outside the internet, nobody is standing in a park thinking:

“I cannot believe that Person X misunderstood the fictional universe's power-scaling system.”

The trees do not care.

The grass does not care.

The clouds certainly do not care.

And yet online, people can become deeply frustrated about such topics.

That is why touching grass can be understood as a metaphor for perspective.

It is a reminder that there is a physical world beyond whatever is currently happening on a screen.

Chapter Two: The Human Need for Balance

One of the strongest arguments for touching grass is the importance of balance.

Almost anything can become unhealthy when there is too much of it.

Food is necessary, but eating excessively can cause problems.

Exercise is beneficial, but overdoing it can also be harmful.

Studying is important, but nobody can realistically study every second of every day.

Entertainment is enjoyable, but endless entertainment can prevent someone from doing other important things.

The same principle applies to technology.

Technology is incredibly useful. The internet has changed education, communication, science, business, entertainment, and countless other areas of human life. It would be unreasonable to argue that people should simply abandon it.

Instead, the goal should be balance.

A balanced life might include school or work, hobbies, family time, friendships, exercise, entertainment, sleep, and time outdoors.

Unfortunately, digital platforms are specifically designed to capture attention. A person can open an application intending to spend five minutes watching something and suddenly realize that an hour has passed.

One video becomes another.

One post becomes another.

One game becomes another match.

One message becomes a long conversation.

One search becomes twenty searches.

The internet rarely says:

“Okay, you've had enough. Please go outside.”

Instead, it usually provides another thing to look at.

This is where personal awareness becomes important.

Sometimes the most powerful thing a person can do is simply recognize:

“I have been sitting here for a long time. Maybe I should take a break.”

That break does not have to be dramatic.

You could walk around the house.

You could stand outside.

You could water plants.

You could walk around the neighborhood with a parent or trusted adult.

You could play a sport.

You could sit somewhere peaceful.

You could simply look at the sky.

The point is to change environments.

When your surroundings change, your attention can change with them.

Chapter Three: The Physical World Is Real

This may sound obvious, but it is worth considering.

The internet is enormous, but it is not physical.

A social-media post does not physically exist in the same way a tree does.

A video game character cannot actually stand beside you.

An online argument cannot physically occupy your living room.

A digital achievement can be meaningful, but it is still different from physical experiences.

The physical world gives us sensations that screens cannot completely reproduce.

You can feel wind.

You can hear birds.

You can smell rain.

You can feel sunlight.

You can walk across different surfaces.

You can see enormous landscapes.

You can hear people laughing nearby.

You can notice the changing temperature.

These experiences remind us that our bodies exist in physical space.

Modern technology can sometimes make us forget this because screens provide extremely powerful stimulation. Bright colors, sounds, notifications, animations, messages, and constantly changing content can keep our attention focused.

Going outside interrupts that pattern.

A quiet walk does not usually provide a notification every thirty seconds.

A tree does not ask you to watch another advertisement.

A cloud does not recommend five more videos.

A patch of grass does not send you a message saying:

“YOU MISSED THREE NEW UPDATES.”

Nature is refreshingly uninterested in your screen time.

And perhaps that is exactly what makes it valuable.

Chapter Four: Touching Grass and Exercise


Another reason to go outside is movement.

Human beings need physical activity. Our bodies are built for movement, even though modern life can sometimes encourage long periods of sitting.

Students may spend hours sitting in classrooms.

Homework can require more sitting.

Computers require sitting.

Gaming can involve sitting.

Watching movies involves sitting.

Scrolling through a phone usually involves sitting.

After enough sitting, going outside and moving around can feel like a completely different experience.

Walking is one of the simplest forms of movement.

You do not need expensive equipment.

You do not need a gym membership.

You do not need complicated instructions.

You simply walk.

You might walk around a park, around your neighborhood, or somewhere safe with other people.

Other outdoor activities can also make movement enjoyable.

Football, basketball, cricket, cycling, skating, hiking, swimming, and many other activities can provide opportunities to move while having fun.

The important point is that exercise does not have to feel like punishment.

It can be play.

A child running around with friends is exercising without thinking:

“I must now complete my required physical-activity quota.”

They are simply having fun.

This is an important distinction.

Movement can be something enjoyable rather than something you are forced to do because you feel guilty about sitting.

Going outside provides more opportunities for spontaneous movement.

You might see a ball and decide to play.

You might notice a bicycle and decide to ride.

You might walk farther than expected because you are enjoying the surroundings.

The physical world gives your body opportunities that a screen cannot.

Chapter Five: Nature Is Surprisingly Interesting

Some people might say:

“Okay, but grass is boring.”

Fair enough.

A single blade of grass is probably not going to provide the same immediate entertainment as an action-packed video game.

But nature becomes more interesting when you actually pay attention to it.

Consider a tree.

At first, it is simply a tree.

Then you notice the shape of its branches.

Then you notice leaves moving in the wind.

Then you notice birds sitting among those branches.

Then you notice insects moving across the bark.

Then you notice how sunlight changes the appearance of the leaves.

Suddenly, the tree is no longer just “a tree.”

It is an entire small ecosystem.

The same applies to grass.

A patch of grass can contain tiny insects, seeds, different plants, soil organisms, and countless interactions that are invisible if you never look closely.

Nature is not boring.

It is simply not constantly demanding your attention.

That is a major difference.

Digital platforms often compete for attention.

Nature does not.

You have to choose to pay attention.

This can be a useful skill.

Being able to sit somewhere without immediately reaching for a phone can feel strange at first, especially for someone accustomed to constant stimulation.

But over time, quiet moments can become enjoyable.

Chapter Six: Going Outside Can Help You Gain Perspective

Imagine that you have just lost a game.

You are frustrated.

You feel like the entire world is against you.

Maybe you lost because another player made an annoying move.

Maybe your internet connection failed.

Maybe your teammate made a mistake.

At that moment, the problem can feel enormous.

Then you walk outside.

You see the sky.

You see trees.

You hear people talking.

You notice cars driving down the road.

You see someone walking their dog.

You realize that the world has continued functioning perfectly normally despite your loss.

This is perspective.

The game mattered while you were playing it.

But it was not the entire universe.

The same idea applies to online arguments.

When you are inside an argument, every reply feels important.

You feel compelled to respond.

Someone says something you disagree with.

You immediately want to answer.

They answer again.

You answer again.

Soon, you are spending your evening arguing with someone you may never meet.

Going outside can create psychological distance from the situation.

You can return later and realise:

“Wait. Why was I so angry about this?”

That moment of realisation is valuable.

Not every disagreement needs a response.

Not every comment needs correction.

Not every stranger online needs to be convinced.

Sometimes the smartest response is simply closing the application and touching grass.

Chapter Seven: Socialising in the Real World

Technology has transformed communication.

You can message someone instantly.

You can video-call relatives who live far away.

You can participate in online communities.

You can play games with friends who are not physically nearby.

These are genuine benefits.

However, face-to-face interaction provides experiences that digital communication cannot completely duplicate.

When people are physically together, they can read body language, facial expressions, gestures, tone, and other subtle signals.

They can laugh together.

They can walk together.

They can play sports together.

They can share food.

They can explore places.

They can create spontaneous memories.

Sometimes the best conversations happen when nobody planned them.

Two friends might go outside intending to walk for ten minutes and end up talking for an hour.

A group might play a simple game and laugh because someone makes a ridiculous mistake.

A family might sit outside in the evening and talk about their day.

These moments are not necessarily spectacular.

In fact, that is part of their value.

Life is mostly made of ordinary moments.

We often imagine that meaningful memories must involve enormous events.

But years later, people may remember something much simpler:

“That summer, we used to sit outside every evening.”

“That was the park where we always played.”

“That was the street where we rode our bikes.”

Those memories are connected to physical places.

The real world gives memories locations.

Chapter Eight: Touching Grass as a Digital Detox



The phrase “digital detox” sounds extremely serious, but the basic idea is simple.



Take a break from digital devices.



You do not necessarily have to disappear from the internet for a month.



You could start with a short period.



For example:



Ten minutes.



Thirty minutes.



An hour.



A few hours.



The purpose is not to prove that you are stronger than technology.



The purpose is to experience what happens when your attention is not constantly directed toward a screen.



At first, you might feel bored.



That is normal.



Boredom is not necessarily an enemy.



In fact, boredom can create opportunities for creativity.



When your brain is not constantly receiving new information, it may begin generating its own ideas.



You might think of a story.



You might draw something.



You might notice something interesting outside.



You might decide to organize your room.



You might invent a game.



You might simply daydream.



The modern world often treats boredom as a problem that must immediately be solved.



The moment someone becomes bored, they reach for their phone.



But sometimes boredom is simply your brain asking for something different.



Going outside can provide that difference.



Chapter Nine: The Sky Is Better Than a Notification



One of the most underrated things about going outside is looking upward.



The sky is constantly changing.



During the day, it might be bright blue.



Clouds might form strange shapes.



At sunset, the colors can change dramatically.



At night, stars may become visible.



None of this requires an account.



There is no subscription.



There is no loading screen.



There is no password.



There is no update.



There is no comment section.



You simply look.



This might seem incredibly simple, but simplicity can be powerful.



People sometimes become so accustomed to highly produced digital content that ordinary beauty feels insufficient.



A video has music.



A game has graphics.



A movie has special effects.



A social-media post has filters.



Nature does not need any of these things.



A sunset does not need a thumbnail.



A mountain does not need a title.



A bird does not need followers.



A tree does not need likes.



Nature exists without needing approval.



That can be strangely refreshing.



Chapter Ten: Why Screens Can Make Time Disappear



One of the strangest things about digital entertainment is how quickly time can pass.



You look at the clock.



It is 4:00.



You watch a few videos.



You play a game.



You check some messages.



You scroll through a few posts.



Suddenly, it is 7:30.



You think:



“How did that happen?”



Digital platforms are extremely good at keeping people engaged.



This is not necessarily because they are evil. Many technologies are designed to be convenient and enjoyable.



But enjoyment can make time disappear.



Going outside creates a different rhythm.



A walk takes a certain amount of time.



A football game has a beginning and an end.



A conversation naturally slows down.



Sitting outside encourages observation rather than constant consumption.



This difference can make time feel more noticeable.



Instead of consuming hundreds of pieces of information in an hour, you might spend that hour experiencing one place.



That may sound less productive, but not every moment needs to maximize productivity.



Sometimes simply being present is enough.



Chapter Eleven: Touching Grass Does Not Mean Hating Technology



This point is extremely important.



Someone who tells you to touch grass is not necessarily saying:



“Technology is bad.”



Technology is not bad.



The internet is not bad.



Video games are not bad.



Social media is not automatically bad.



Watching videos is not automatically bad.



Computers are not bad.



Phones are not bad.



These technologies can be incredibly useful.



The problem is losing control of how we use them.



A hammer is useful.



You do not need to destroy the hammer because it can also cause damage.



You simply learn how to use it appropriately.



Technology works similarly.



Use your phone to communicate.



Use the internet to learn.



Play games for entertainment.



Watch videos you enjoy.



Create things.



Explore ideas.



But remember to leave the screen sometimes.



The healthiest approach is not:



“Technology or nature.”



It is:



“Technology and nature.”



Use the advantages of the digital world while still participating in the physical one.



Chapter Twelve: The Importance of Small Breaks



Some people think that if they want to spend less time online, they need to completely transform their lifestyle.



They imagine deleting every application, throwing away every device, and moving into a forest.



That is probably unnecessary.



Small changes can be enough.



For example, after completing some homework, you could take a short outdoor break.



Instead of watching videos during every break, you could walk around.



Instead of messaging someone exclusively, you could sometimes talk face-to-face.



Instead of playing games continuously for hours, you could pause and move around.



Instead of scrolling while waiting for something, you could simply look around.



These small moments can add up.



The goal is not perfection.



Nobody needs to become a person who spends every minute outdoors.



Balance is the goal.



Even a few minutes outside can provide a change of environment.



And sometimes that is all you need.



Chapter Thirteen: Grass Does Not Judge You



There is something wonderfully non-judgmental about grass.



Grass does not care about your grades.



Grass does not care how many followers you have.



Grass does not care which video game you play.



Grass does not care whether your opinion is popular.



Grass does not care whether your latest post received one hundred likes or zero likes.



Grass simply exists.



This sounds silly, but it points toward something meaningful.



Online spaces can make people feel like they are constantly being evaluated.



People compare themselves to others.



They look at other people's achievements.



They see carefully selected photos.



They notice follower counts.



They read comments.



They worry about what others think.



The physical world is generally less concerned with these measurements.



A tree does not ask for your social-media statistics before giving you shade.



A park does not require you to have a certain number of followers before allowing you to enter.



A walking path does not care about your popularity.



Nature provides an environment where you can simply exist.



That is valuable.



Chapter Fourteen: Touching Grass and Creativity



Creativity often benefits from changing environments.



Writers can become inspired by places.



Artists can notice colors.



Musicians can hear sounds.



Photographers can find interesting scenes.



Inventors can notice problems that need solutions.



Going outside exposes people to different sights, sounds, textures, and situations.



A simple walk might produce an idea for a story.



A strange-looking tree might inspire a drawing.



A conversation might create a character.



A sunset might inspire a poem.



A sports game might inspire a new game mechanic.



Creativity does not always arrive when someone sits in front of a blank screen and commands their brain to produce an idea.



Sometimes the idea appears while doing something completely unrelated.



That is another reason stepping away from the screen can be useful.



You are not necessarily wasting time.



You may be giving your brain new material.



Chapter Fifteen: Touching Grass and Curiosity



The outdoors is full of questions.



Why are some leaves shaped differently?



Why do certain birds appear at certain times?



Why does the moon look different throughout the month?



Where does rainwater go?



Why do clouds form?



How do plants grow?



Why do insects behave differently?



Why does the temperature change?



What causes wind?



The world outside can turn ordinary experiences into scientific questions.



Curiosity is one of the foundations of learning.



A person does not need to be sitting in a classroom to learn something.



Sometimes learning begins with:



“Why?”



The internet can answer those questions, but experiencing the world first can make the questions more meaningful.



Instead of reading:



“Plants need sunlight.”



You can observe a plant growing toward a window.



Instead of simply learning that clouds move with wind, you can watch them crossing the sky.



Instead of memorizing that seasons change, you can notice trees changing over time.



Direct observation creates a connection between information and experience.



Chapter Sixteen: The Case Against Touching Grass



To make a fair argument, we should also consider the opposing side.



Perhaps touching grass is overrated.



Maybe some people genuinely prefer staying indoors.



Maybe someone has a fascinating game they are enjoying.



Maybe they are learning online.



Maybe they are talking with distant friends.



Maybe they live somewhere where going outside is difficult.



Maybe the weather is terrible.



Maybe there is no safe outdoor space nearby.



These are reasonable points.



There is no universal rule saying that everyone must spend a certain amount of time outdoors every day.



People have different interests, environments, responsibilities, and circumstances.



Additionally, “touch grass” can sometimes be used unfairly.



If someone cares deeply about a hobby, that does not automatically mean they need to be insulted.



People are allowed to enjoy things.



Being passionate about games, books, movies, sports, science, art, or online communities is not inherently a problem.



The real issue is balance.



If a hobby is enjoyable and does not interfere with important responsibilities, relationships, sleep, or everyday life, there may be nothing wrong with it.



Therefore, “touch grass” should not become another way to judge people.



It is most useful when understood as a humorous reminder rather than a serious insult.



Chapter Seventeen: The Ideal Amount of Grass



So how much grass should someone touch?



Five minutes?



Ten minutes?



One hour?



Three hours?



Should there be a government department measuring grass exposure?



Should every citizen receive a daily grass-touching requirement?



Probably not.



There is no magical number.



The important thing is recognizing when you need a break.



If you have been sitting for a long time, take a break.



If you feel mentally overloaded, change environments.



If you notice that you have been scrolling endlessly, put the phone down for a while.



If you have spent hours gaming, move around.



If you are angry about something online, step away before responding.



If you have been indoors all day, consider going outside.



This is not about meeting a mathematical grass quota.



It is about paying attention to your own habits.



Chapter Eighteen: A Completely Scientific Grass-Touching Procedure



For the sake of academic seriousness, let us establish a procedure.



Step One: Identify Grass



Locate a patch of grass.



This may be found in a garden, park, field, or another appropriate outdoor area.



Avoid places where stepping on grass is prohibited.



Step Two: Approach the Grass



Walk toward it.



Do not sprint unless you have a specific reason.



There is no competition.



Step Three: Observe



Look at the grass.



Notice its color.



Observe whether it is wet or dry.



Look around the surrounding environment.



You may discover trees, flowers, insects, birds, or other interesting features.



Step Four: Touch



Place your hand on the grass.



Congratulations.



You have successfully completed the fundamental objective.



Step Five: Do Not Immediately Return to the Screen



This step is critical.



The purpose was not simply to touch grass and then immediately run back indoors while shouting:



“I HAVE TO CHECK MY NOTIFICATIONS!”



Stay outside for a little while.



Walk around.



Talk to someone.



Look around.



Play something.



Relax.



Step Six: Return When You Want



Eventually, go back inside.



Use your technology.



Continue your activities.



The objective was never to abandon the internet permanently.



The objective was to experience something else.



Chapter Nineteen: The Internet Will Still Be There



Perhaps one of the biggest reasons people avoid taking breaks is the fear of missing something.



What if someone posts something?



What if a message arrives?



What if there is a new video?



What if someone responds to an argument?



What if something happens in a game?



What if a new update appears?



The truth is that most things can wait.



The internet moves incredibly quickly.



If you disappear for thirty minutes, there will probably still be plenty of content when you return.



This is one of the strange things about online life.



There is always something new.



Therefore, waiting for a moment when the internet has nothing happening is impossible.



There will always be another video.



Another message.



Another post.



Another trend.



Another argument.



Another update.



If you constantly wait for the digital world to become quiet, you may never take a break.



Instead, you have to decide that your own time matters too.



You can say:



“I will come back later.”



And then go outside.



Chapter Twenty: Touching Grass and Personal Freedom



There is also something empowering about deciding how you spend your attention.



Your attention is valuable.



Every day, countless things compete for it.



Companies want it.



Applications want it.



Advertisements want it.



Games want it.



Videos want it.



News wants it.



Social networks want it.



Even your friends may want it.



This does not mean all of these things are bad.



But it means your attention is limited.



You cannot give everything your attention simultaneously.



Choosing to step outside is therefore a small act of control.



You are saying:



“For the next few minutes, I choose what I look at.”



Maybe you look at a tree.



Maybe you talk to someone.



Maybe you play basketball.



Maybe you sit quietly.



The important thing is that you made the decision.



You are not simply reacting to the next notification.



Chapter Twenty-One: Why “Go Touch Grass” Became Such a Powerful Joke



The popularity of the phrase is partly explained by how accurately it describes a modern problem.



People spend enormous amounts of time online.



The internet can make small communities feel enormous.



If thousands of people are discussing a topic, it can feel like everyone cares.



But millions of people may not even know the conversation exists.



This creates what might be called an “internet bubble.”



Inside the bubble, something can seem incredibly important.



Outside the bubble, it may barely matter.



Telling someone to touch grass is essentially saying:



“Step outside the bubble.”



It encourages them to remember that online culture is only one part of reality.



There are streets.



Schools.



Homes.



Parks.



Families.



Friends.



Animals.



Weather.



Buildings.



Mountains.



Oceans.



Cities.



And an entire physical planet.



The internet is huge.



But the real world is bigger.



Chapter Twenty-Two: The Grass Does Not Need Wi-Fi



One of the greatest advantages of grass is its excellent technological independence.



Grass does not require Wi-Fi.



Grass does not need Bluetooth.



Grass does not need a charger.



Grass does not have a battery.



Grass does not need software updates.



Grass has never asked anyone to accept cookies.



Grass does not have a subscription model.



Grass has no premium version.



There is no “Grass Pro Max.”



There is no “Grass Plus.”



There is no monthly payment for high-quality grass.



You simply go outside.



This ridiculous comparison highlights something important.



Modern life is surrounded by technology.



We sometimes forget how unusual that is.



For most of human history, people lived without smartphones, social media, streaming services, or video games.



Human beings were already capable of learning, communicating, creating, exploring, and enjoying life.



Technology has added incredible possibilities.



But it has not replaced the physical world.



Grass existed before Wi-Fi.



Trees existed before smartphones.



Sunsets existed before cameras.



Humans have always had the ability to simply go outside.



Chapter Twenty-Three: Touching Grass Does Not Solve Everything



It is also important not to exaggerate.



Going outside is not a magical solution to every problem.



If someone is stressed about school, going outside might provide a break, but it does not automatically solve the assignment.



If someone has an argument with a friend, touching grass will not instantly repair the friendship.



If someone has a difficult responsibility, walking through a park does not make the responsibility disappear.



The value of going outside is more modest.



It can provide a change of environment.



It can create a pause.



It can give you time to think.



It can help you step away from distractions.



It can provide opportunities for movement and social interaction.



Sometimes a small break is exactly what you need.



But it is still only a break.



When you return, real-life responsibilities remain.



That is okay.



The purpose of a break is to help you return with a refreshed perspective.



Chapter Twenty-Four: The Philosophy of Grass



At this point, the essay has reached a philosophical question:



What can grass teach us?



Perhaps the answer is simplicity.



Grass does not try to become a tree.



It does not try to become a flower.



It does not compare itself with the neighboring lawn.



It simply grows.



Humans, however, constantly compare themselves.



Who is smarter?



Who is more successful?



Who has more followers?



Who has better grades?



Who has the newest phone?



Who is better at a game?



Who is more popular?



The internet can amplify these comparisons.



You see other people's achievements constantly.



It can feel as though everyone else is doing better.



Stepping outside can interrupt that cycle.



Nature does not present a scoreboard.



There is no leaderboard for trees.



No ranking system for clouds.



No follower count for birds.



No comment section beneath a sunset.



The physical world simply exists.



Perhaps that is one of the most valuable lessons it offers.



Not everything needs to be measured.



Not everything needs to be compared.



Not everything needs to become a competition.



Sometimes you can simply experience something.



Chapter Twenty-Five: The Social Importance of Going Outside



Outdoor spaces are also important to communities.



Parks, playgrounds, sports fields, walking paths, gardens, and public spaces allow people to gather.



A good public park can bring together people from different backgrounds.



Children can play.



Families can spend time together.



Friends can meet.



People can exercise.



Others can simply sit and relax.



These spaces create opportunities for spontaneous social interaction.



Unlike online communities, physical communities share the same environment.



You might recognize the same people walking through the park.



You might see the same shopkeeper.



You might encounter neighbors.



Over time, these repeated encounters create a sense of community.



This matters because human beings are social creatures.



We benefit from relationships and shared experiences.



Technology can support relationships, but physical spaces provide a foundation for community life.



That makes outdoor spaces more important than they might initially appear.



Chapter Twenty-Six: Rain, Mud, and the Reality of Nature



Of course, nature is not always perfect.



Sometimes it rains.



Sometimes grass is muddy.



Sometimes there are insects.



Sometimes it is extremely hot.



Sometimes it is cold.



Sometimes the wind is annoying.



Sometimes you step outside and immediately think:



“Actually, I would like to return indoors.”



This is perfectly reasonable.



Nature does not come with a climate-control button.



That is part of the experience.



Outdoor environments are unpredictable.



They change.



Weather changes.



Seasons change.



Plants grow.



Leaves fall.



The sky changes.



This unpredictability is different from digital environments, where many things are controlled by software.



Real life cannot always be paused.



You cannot simply reset the weather.



You cannot save before walking into a puddle.



You cannot reload the level because you forgot an umbrella.



And while this can be inconvenient, it also makes outdoor experiences feel real.



Sometimes you get caught in light rain.



Sometimes you discover a beautiful sunset unexpectedly.



Sometimes the weather changes your plans.



These small surprises become memories.



Chapter Twenty-Seven: Touch Grass, But Make It Fun



If going outside feels boring, the solution may not be to force yourself to stand in a field doing nothing.



Make it interesting.



Bring a friend.



Play a sport.



Take a walk.



Look for interesting buildings.



Draw something.



Take photographs.



Ride a bicycle.



Explore a safe area.



Watch birds.



Garden.



Read a book outside.



Eat a snack outdoors.



Talk with family.



Play a simple game.



There are countless possibilities.



The key is to find an outdoor activity that you actually enjoy.



Nobody said touching grass had to involve standing silently next to a lawn for thirty minutes.



The phrase is about reconnecting with the world outside your screen.



How you do that is up to you.



Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Great Grass Debate



At this point, we can imagine two imaginary people debating.



Person One says:



“Why should I touch grass? I have everything I need online.”



Person Two responds:



“Because you have a physical body that exists in a physical environment.”



Person One says:



“But my game is more interesting.”



Person Two says:



“That's fine. But you can play your game after taking a break.”



Person One says:



“What if I miss something?”



Person Two says:



“You probably will.”



Person One becomes shocked.



“But what if I miss something extremely important?”



Person Two replies:



“Then someone can probably tell you about it later.”



Person One thinks carefully.



“What if someone wins an argument while I'm gone?”



Person Two says:



“Then congratulations to them.”



Person One realizes that the argument might not matter.



This debate illustrates the central point.



The goal is not to destroy the digital world.



The goal is to stop treating every digital event as an emergency.



Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Ultimate Reason to Touch Grass



After discussing health, balance, nature, creativity, social interaction, perspective, and technology, we finally arrive at the simplest reason of all.



Because it is there.



Grass exists.



The outdoors exists.



The sky exists.



Trees exist.



Parks exist.



The world around us exists.



You do not need a complicated reason to experience it.



Sometimes we overthink everything.



We ask whether an activity is productive enough.



Whether it will improve our skills.



Whether it will help our future.



Whether it is worth our time.



But not every activity needs to have a measurable benefit.



Sometimes it is enough to enjoy being alive.



Go outside.



Feel the sunlight.



Feel the breeze.



Walk around.



Look at the trees.



Listen to the world.



Talk to someone.



Laugh.



Play.



Rest.



Then return home.



You do not need to justify every moment of your existence.



Chapter Thirty: A Final Message to the Internet



Dear Internet,



You are impressive.



You have connected billions of people.



You contain more information than any individual human could possibly read.



You have allowed people to learn, create, communicate, entertain themselves, and discover communities.



You have changed civilization.



But please understand something.



We need breaks.



We cannot stare at you forever.



Sometimes we need to close the laptop.



Sometimes we need to put down the phone.



Sometimes we need to pause the game.



Sometimes we need to stop scrolling.



Sometimes we need to walk outside.



Sometimes we need to touch grass.



We promise to come back.



There will still be videos.



There will still be games.



There will still be messages.



There will still be websites.



There will still be memes.



The internet will survive our absence.



And while we are gone, we will experience something you cannot completely provide.



The physical world.



Conclusion



So, why should you touch grass?



You should touch grass because life is larger than a screen.



You should touch grass because taking breaks matters.



You should touch grass because movement is important.



You should touch grass because nature can be beautiful.



You should touch grass because the real world provides experiences that digital spaces cannot completely reproduce.



You should touch grass because online arguments are rarely worth ruining your entire day.



You should touch grass because your attention belongs to you.



You should touch grass because boredom can sometimes lead to creativity.



You should touch grass because friendships can be strengthened through shared physical experiences.



You should touch grass because the internet will still be there when you return.



Most importantly, you should touch grass because balance matters.



Technology is one of humanity's greatest tools. There is nothing wrong with enjoying games, videos, social media, computers, or online communities. These things can be fun, educational, and meaningful.



But they should exist alongside real life, not completely replace it.



The world outside your screen is not an outdated version of reality.



It is reality.



There are people waiting to talk to you.



There are places you have never explored.



There are activities you have never tried.



There are sunsets you have never watched.



There are trees you have never noticed.



There are clouds you have never stopped to look at.



There are countless ordinary moments that could eventually become important memories.



And somewhere outside, probably very close to you, there is a completely innocent patch of grass that has absolutely no idea that it has become the central subject of a 5,000-word essay.



The grass does not care.



It has no idea what an essay is.



It does not know what the internet is.



It does not know what Wi-Fi is.



It does not know what a meme is.



It does not know what an algorithm is.



It simply grows.



Perhaps that is the final lesson.



We do not always need to be connected.



We do not always need to be entertained.



We do not always need to be productive.



We do not always need to win.



Sometimes we just need to step outside.



Take a breath.



Look around.



Enjoy the moment.



And, if the opportunity presents itself, place your hand upon a small patch of grass.



Not because someone online ordered you to.

Not because touching grass will magically solve every problem.

Not because grass is secretly the greatest invention in human history.

But simply because there is a whole physical world waiting outside the screen.

So close the app.

Pause the game.

Finish the argument later.

Put the phone down.

Open the door.

Step outside.

Look at the sky.

Walk around.

Talk to someone.

Enjoy the world.

And finally, touch grass.

The writer is a fifth-grade student at Islamabad Convent School, Islamabad.

Sunday, September 13, 2026

A FRIEND’S TALE: FROM BALA’S DUSTY ROADS TO OXFORD’S GRAND HALLS

From a modest beginning in southern Punjab to postdoctoral research at one of the world’s most prestigious universities, Dr Muhammad Iqbal Hajana’s journey is a story of perseverance, friendship and an unyielding hunger for knowledge

Mahtab Bashir
03335363248
mahtabbashir@gmail.com
ISLAMABAD


Some journeys are planned around destinations. Others are forged slowly, painfully and patiently until the destination itself becomes a consequence of perseverance. Dr Muhammad Iqbal Hajana’s journey belongs to the latter kind.

Catching up with Iqbal, talking about life, memories and how far we’ve come.


From Jampur in Rajanpur, a relatively remote city of southern Punjab, to the distinguished corridors of the University of Oxford, his story is not merely about academic degrees, professional positions or scholarships. It is about refusing to accept circumstances as a verdict.

It is about a young man who arrived in Islamabad with little more than ambition, discipline and an unspoken conviction that his life could become larger than the geographical boundaries from which he had emerged.

I met that youngster in 2003, in the Computer Sciences Department of Quaid-i-Azam University. Back then, he was simply Iqbal. Many of his friends called him Bala.

There was nothing ostentatious about him. He was quiet, somewhat shy and rarely the loudest voice in a room. But there was something unmistakable beneath that reserved personality: determination.

I had been born and raised in Islamabad, so I had seen countless young people arrive in the capital carrying dreams of education, employment and a better future.

But Iqbal was different.

He did not merely arrive in Islamabad. He gradually conquered the challenges it placed before him. From Jampur to Quaid-i-Azam University

Iqbal came to Islamabad in 2001, shortly after completing his graduation.

Some classmates and teachers encouraged him to consider Quaid-i-Azam University, then, and probably still, one of Pakistan’s most formidable centres of higher learning.

For a young man coming from Jampur, the transition was considerable. But Iqbal did not regard Islamabad as an escape from his past. He regarded it as an opening to his future.

In 2003, he completed his M.Sc in Earth Sciences from QAU. Yet one degree was not enough. He enrolled in the Computer Certificate Programme at QAU’s Department of Computer Sciences. That was where we met, where our paths first crossed, and where fate would eventually bring us together again.

We spent roughly six months in the department together.

I remember Iqbal as hardworking, disciplined and intensely focused. His ambitions were never noisy. They were visible in his conduct. Then came the class elections.

Iqbal was elected Class Representative, while Nazia, another mature and brilliant student from the Anthropology Department, was elected Girls’ Representative.

The choices reflected something simple but important: people trusted them.

Iqbal subsequently entered the M.Phil programme in Earth Sciences, continuing to build the academic foundation that would eventually take him far beyond the boundaries of Pakistan.

A motorbike, a challan and Lahore

Friendship, however, is not built from degrees. It is built from ordinary days. Iqbal and I once travelled from Islamabad to Rawalpindi on a motorbike. On that journey, a traffic warden handed me a challan.

It may have been the first, and perhaps the last, traffic ticket I ever received in Rawalpindi.

The story became even more complicated when I handed the voucher to a colleague, a Daily Times reporter in Rawalpindi, hoping he could help me retrieve my driving licence. He lost the voucher. I eventually stopped pursuing the matter until my licence expired and I had to apply for a new one.

Years later, I still remember that episode more fondly than I remember many serious events of that period.

Life was moving. So were we.

At one point, wedding invitations began arriving from the very people with whom we had once shared classrooms and examinations. The Class Representative and Girls’ Representative were getting married.

Two friends and a dream in Lahore

Iqbal and I also travelled to Lahore to appear in Punjab Public Service Commission (PPSC) examinations.

Those two weeks remain among the more colourful memories of our younger years. We would sit the examinations at Fortress Stadium and then wander through Lahore. We explored its streets, visited its landmarks and sampled its food.

One day, as candidates emerged from the examination centre, we noticed a reporter interviewing them. Iqbal was late. So, I spoke to the journalist and shared my aspirations. The next morning, we bought the newspapers. There it was: “Over 11,000 Youth to Fight for 20 Vacant Posts under PPSC.” I have somehow managed to preserve that newspaper to this day.

When Iqbal finally emerged from the examination centre, I told him about the interview. Then I shared another little incident. “While I was coming out,” I told him, “I heard one candidate ask his friend, what you have written in reply to a question, whether Iqbal was a better Shair (poet) or Hakeem (a healer).” His friend prompted: “Nothing, my friend. I have only just discovered that Iqbal was also a Hakeem.” We laughed. It was a tiny episode in the vast story of our lives.

But decades later, I still remember it.

Perhaps that is the strange mathematics of friendship: some moments become more valuable with age.

The professional world could not contain him

During his M.Phil studies, Iqbal joined Oil and Gas Development Company Limited (OGDCL). The professional world opened another door for him.

He gained practical experience in the energy sector, learned the demands of professional life and established himself beyond academia. But professional stability did not silence his academic hunger.

Instead, it seemed to sharpen it.

He eventually secured a Higher Education Commission scholarship and proceeded to Cardiff University, UK for advanced studies. For someone who had begun in Jampur, Cardiff represented another formidable leap.

But by then, perhaps Iqbal had stopped measuring his dreams by distance.

After returning to Pakistan, he joined Weatherford, a multinational oilfield services company. Later, his professional journey took him through OGDCL, OGTI in I-9 and Weatherford in I-10.

Our meetings continued. Sometimes we would sit over tea. Sometimes over a meal. We would revisit old memories, discuss our respective careers and wonder how quickly the years were disappearing.

Our professions had taken us in different directions. Our friendship had not.

From industry to the classroom

Eventually, Iqbal made another significant decision.

He moved from the corporate oil and gas sector into academia and joined Bahria University Islamabad as a member of its teaching faculty. It was more than a career transition. It seemed to reflect something fundamental about him.

For Iqbal, education was never simply a collection of certificates to be displayed on a wall or degrees to be added to a curriculum vitae.

Knowledge was a lifelong pursuit. He wanted to learn more. Then he wanted to teach. And after teaching, he wanted to discover more. That restlessness eventually took him back to the pursuit of advanced research.

And then came Oxford

Years after leaving Jampur, Iqbal secured another HEC scholarship. This time, the destination was the University of Oxford. Today, he is undertaking postdoctoral research in Earth Sciences at Oxford.

The distance between those two points is difficult to measure merely in kilometres. Jampur to Oxford is not simply a geographical journey. It is a journey across circumstances. Across uncertainty. Across financial and social limitations. Across countless moments when it would have been easier to settle. But Iqbal kept moving.
“Iqbal, do you remember?”

When he recently returned from Oxford during a break, he called me. We met over tea at Super Market in F-6, the very sector where I was born and raised.

As we sat together, the years seemed to collapse. I looked at him and, for a moment, I could almost see the young Iqbal of 2003 sitting before me.

The Earth Sciences Department, The Computer Sciences Department. The class elections. The motorbike. The Rawalpindi challan. The Lahore examinations. The newspaper. The laughter. The dreams.

“Iqbal, do you remember those days?” I asked. Of course, he did. Some memories do not require photographs. They remain preserved somewhere deeper.

The teacher became a mentor

Today, Iqbal’s contribution extends beyond his own academic journey.

He has supervised two PhD students and several MPhil students, while contributing numerous research papers to national and international academic journals.

The young man who once sat beside us in a university department has himself become a mentor to a new generation of scholars.

That, perhaps, is a more profound measure of achievement than any title. Knowledge becomes meaningful when it is passed forward.

A life built together

Iqbal’s personal journey has also been intertwined with academia. He married one of his university colleagues (yeah, GR), who herself is a PhD scholar and faculty member at a reputable public-sector university. Together, they have three children and are currently residing in the UK.

Over the years, he has achieved many of the material comforts associated with professional stability, a home, luxury vehicle(s) and a secure life.

But when I look at his journey, these things appear almost incidental.

The greater achievement is intangible. It is the respect he has earned. It is the students he has inspired. It is the knowledge he continues to create. And it is the distance he has travelled without forgetting where he began.

What Jampur gave him

Iqbal’s story is particularly significant because of where it began.

Jampur did not offer him the same concentration of opportunities available in Pakistan’s major urban centres.

Yet he never treated his birthplace as a limitation. He carried Jampur with him. Then he added Islamabad. QAU. Cardiff. The corporate world. Academia. And finally, Oxford. Each place became another chapter rather than a replacement for the previous one.

That is perhaps the most beautiful aspect of his journey. He did not erase his origins to reach Oxford. He carried them there.

The only missing link 

Amid his many achievements, Iqbal feels the absence of his parents, who are no longer here to celebrate the milestones they helped him reach.

He remembers them with deep affection and gratitude and repeatedly acknowledges that whatever he has become is inseparable from their sacrifices, prayers and upbringing.

For all the universities he has attended, all the scholarships he has won and all the professional milestones he has crossed, there remains a part of the journey that belongs entirely to them.

Perhaps every achievement of his carries an invisible dedication. To his mother. To his father. To the people who believed in him before the world had any reason to do so.

Geography decides where you begin, not where you end

As someone born and raised in Islamabad, I have seen many talented young people come to the capital in search of opportunity.

Some found it. Some lost their way. Some achieved what they came for. Iqbal did something different. He kept expanding the boundaries of what was possible for himself. His journey offers a powerful lesson to young people growing up in smaller cities and less privileged environments:

From Iqbal to Dr Iqbal

When I first met him in 2003, he was simply Iqbal. A shy young man. A hardworking student. A friend. Today, he is Dr Muhammad Iqbal Hajana, an academic, researcher, mentor and postdoctoral scholar at Oxford. Yet, sitting across from him over tea in F-6, I did not see only the scholar. I saw the old friend.

The young man from Jampur who came to Islamabad carrying a dream that was probably larger than he could explain at the time. Perhaps that is why his story touches me personally. Because I witnessed a small part of the beginning.

I watched the journey unfold. And now, from Jampur to Oxford, I can see just how far that quiet determination carried him.

His journey is not over. Perhaps Oxford is not the destination either.

Perhaps it is simply another milestone on a road that began in Jampur and continues wherever his curiosity, scholarship and determination take him.

And if I were to ask him one final question today, sitting across that cup of tea, it would be simple: “Mr. Bala, oh sorry Dr. sb, how far do you think you can still go?” Knowing him, I suspect he would smile quietly, and keep walking.

Saturday, September 5, 2026

“TEA IS FANTASTIC” ABHINANDAN’S NEW ANNOUNCEMENT MAY COME FROM AN ATR

IAF fighter pilot moves from the MiG-21 cockpit to a local ATR, leaving behind the dogfight, the Vir Chakra and a famous cup of Pakistani tea.

Mahtab Bashir
0333 53 63 248
mahtabbashir@gmail.com
ISLAMABAD

Once celebrated as the moustachioed face of Indian air force, Group Captain Abhinandan Varthaman is now preparing for a very different kind of flight, training to operate an ATR for Indian regional airline FLY91.

One cannot help wondering: is India's celebrated fighter pilot not capable enough to fly an ATR yet? Perhaps he is. And perhaps that is precisely why he needs the training. After all, the last time he ejected, landed on the Pakistani side and was captured.

He flew a fighter jet into an encounter with Pakistani aircraft, his MiG-21 came down. So, after the MiG-21 chapter, comes the ATR chapter.

Abhinandan sipping tea during captivity in Pakistan
From supersonic fighter sorties to regional passenger flights, from chasing aircraft to chasing schedules, it is certainly an unusual career transition for a man whom India's political and media establishment once turned into a symbol of military heroism.

And somewhere in this curious aviation story, one sentence continues to hover above everything: “Tea is fantastic.”

Those three words, uttered by Abhinandan while in Pakistani custody in 2019, became an unlikely cultural phenomenon in India. The captured pilot, visibly injured but composed, was shown drinking tea and answering questions without revealing information.

But Indian media soon did what Indian media does best when presented with a dramatic television moment: it turned a cup of tea into a national epic.

The man whose aircraft had been shot down and who had subsequently been captured was transformed into a heroic symbol. His moustache became iconic, his photographs appeared everywhere and his name became embedded in India's political rhetoric.

Then came the Vir Chakra.

Abhinandan was decorated with India's third-highest wartime gallantry award, while the episode was increasingly packaged as a story of “extraordinary Indian military valour”.

And that is where the story deserves a little less Bollywood and a little more reality.

There is no question that maintaining composure while injured and in enemy custody is difficult. But composure in captivity and victory in aerial combat are two very different things.



Yet somehow, in the Indian telling of the story, the distinction became rather conveniently blurred.

The fighter went down.
The pilot was captured.
The tea was fantastic.
And the hero was born.

Now, seven years later, the same hero is reportedly preparing to fly an ATR in India's regional aviation sector.

The symbolism is almost too perfect.

The MiG-21 was built for combat. The ATR is built to carry passengers between cities.

One carries weapons. The other carries luggage.

One produces the sort of noise that makes people look up nervously.

The other produces the sort of announcement that makes passengers check whether their flight is delayed.

For Abhinandan, therefore, the aviation vocabulary is about to change dramatically.

“Target acquired” may become “boarding completed.”

“Enemy aircraft detected” may become “cabin crew, prepare for take-off.”

And instead of wondering whether the opposing aircraft has locked on, passengers will presumably be wondering whether their checked baggage has made it onto the plane.

But perhaps the biggest irony lies in the fact that Varthaman's most internationally remembered words came not from a successful fighter sortie, but from his time after that sortie had ended rather abruptly.

“The tea is fantastic.”

It was a remarkable public-relations victory for Pakistan. A captured Indian fighter pilot sitting in Pakistani custody, calmly drinking tea and praising it, became one of the most replayed moments of the confrontation.

India, meanwhile, had a different response: instead of allowing the episode to remain an uncomfortable military episode, it elevated the man at its centre into a national icon.

The medal helped.
The television coverage helped.
The moustache certainly helped.
And the tea? The tea became legendary.

Now imagine the next stage.

A passenger boards an ATR. He looks toward the cockpit. Perhaps he notices the pilot's name.

“Abhinandan Varthaman?”

The passenger might reasonably wonder whether this is the same man whose photograph once dominated television screens across India.

And then comes the announcement:

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard.”

No Pakistani jets.
No dramatic dogfight.
No ejection seat.
No international crisis.
Just an ATR heading toward its destination.

That, perhaps, is the most amusing part of the entire saga.

War propaganda thrives on drama. Commercial aviation thrives on routine.

The first requires enemies, headlines, medals and patriotic speeches.

The second requires punctuality, discipline, navigation and passengers who have remembered to switch their phones to flight mode.

The Vir Chakra cannot help with turbulence.
A patriotic slogan cannot land an aircraft.
And a famous moustache is no substitute for an aviation licence.

Perhaps this is why the ATR chapter is so revealing. It strips away the political theatre and returns aviation to what it actually is: a profession in which performance matters far more than mythology.

If Abhinandan successfully completes his training and begins flying commercially, he will simply become another professional pilot responsible for getting passengers safely from one airport to another.

No national anthem required.
No heroic soundtrack necessary.
And certainly no need to remind anyone about the tea.

Although, given the extraordinary afterlife of those three words, one suspects that whenever Abhinandan is offered a cup of tea before a flight, somebody somewhere will remember:

“Tea is fantastic.”
What a journey.
From the cockpit of a MiG-21 to the cockpit of an ATR.
From aerial combat to domestic routes.
From fighter pilot to commercial trainee.


And from a captured pilot's famous cup of tea to a career where the real test is no longer how convincingly one can appear heroic on television, but whether one can safely land the aircraft.

Perhaps that is the final irony.

The Indian establishment spent years turning a three-day captivity into a legend.

Now aviation may reduce the legend to something wonderfully ordinary:

Captain, passengers are waiting. The aircraft is ready. Please fly.

The writer is a journalist who completed MPhil thesis titled “U.S. Pro Israel Policy: The Rise of Anti American Rhetoric in Pakistan" from Quaid-i-Azam University, Islamabad. 

Monday, August 24, 2026

SYSTEM HAS COLLAPSED, LET’S CELEBRATE IT!

Mahtab Bashir
mahtabbashir@gmail.com
ISLAMABAD


After nearly eight decades of independence, Pakistan has finally achieved something remarkable: we have spent 80 years perfecting the art of making a functioning society look dysfunctional.

Corruption is no longer an aberration but an operating principle; policies are drafted more for files than for implementation; professionalism is often sacrificed at the altar of sifarish; loyalty is measured by personal benefit rather than principle; patriotism appears most passionately on national days, preferably with a flag as a profile picture; and empathy has become an increasingly rare luxury.

From politics to bureaucracy, education to healthcare, media to business, and institutions to ordinary social dealings, the same disease seems to have spread everywhere, rules are negotiable, accountability selective, and merit perpetually homeless. 

And now, after eight long decades of denial, excuses and ceremonial self-congratulation, we are astonished to discover that the system has not merely developed cracks, it has collapsed.

The tragedy, however, is not that we failed to notice the collapse; it is that we spent 80 years calling the falling walls “progress.”


Many moons ago, when a Pakistani swimming contingent returned home after a dismal performance at the Olympics, they faced severe criticism. During a meeting with the swimmers, sports minister congratulated them, saying, “Everyone has returned safely, and, thankfully, no one drowned. Big congratulations!”

Let's talk about Hockey, the sport in which Pakistan once ruled the world and proudly flaunted it as our national game, has now given us another reason to celebrate. The Pakistan hockey team qualified for the World Cup after a hard-fought campaign and managed to win just one match, against Japan. It was, of course, a historic victory: our first World Cup win in 16 years. And, naturally, we also lost to our arch-rivals, India.

But by the time these lines are being written, the celebrations over the thrilling 4-3 victory against Japan may have ended, or perhaps they are still going on. After all, the Green Shirts will now play in the 9th-to-16th-place classification matches. Big congratulations!

On Friday, August 21, England defeated visiting Pakistan by an innings and 120 runs within three days at Headingley, in what was supposed to be a five-day Test match and the first of a three-match series. The second Test will be played at Lord’s on August 27, when Babar Azam is expected to make his comeback.

At Headingley, many people, including the goras, ridiculed Pakistan’s selectors, with some calling it the worst team in the history of Pakistan cricket, or suggesting that perhaps the selectors themselves were the worst. Ali Usman, however, proved them all wrong. He became the first overseas spinner since 1972 to claim a five-wicket haul at Headingley. Yes, Pakistan suffered a massive defeat, but let us not allow that minor detail to spoil the celebration. Big congratulations!


Arshad Nadeem, our champion javelin thrower who stunned the world by setting an Olympic record of 92.97 metres to win gold at the Paris Olympics, suffered an early exit after reportedly feeling cold and groggy. As he himself described it, the cold apparently got the better of him before his javelin throw at the Commonwealth Games in Glasgow, where he finished ninth among 12 competitors.

Arshad managed a best throw of 77.41 metres in his first three attempts. But there was one encouraging sign: thankfully, the javelin (neza) was not frozen, only the thrower seemed to be. Especially the thrower in whom governments and the private sector have invested so heavily. Big Congratulations!

On August 14, the Pakistani government announced a number of civilian awards for people contributing in different fields. The actual conferment, however, will take place on March 23 next year. The decision was widely mocked on social media, with critics arguing that the value of civilian awards has been diluted, not only by some of the recipients, including serving office-holders, but also by those handing them out.

One social media user summed up the sentiment rather brutally: “Those deprived of awards for some reason can always get a Sitara-e-Imtiaz from any outlet of Imtiaz Store.”

Another interesting development came when a lawyer put the Presidency on notice by issuing a legal notice to President Asif Ali Zardari, seeking revocation of the civil awards announced for serving bureaucrats and officials. The petition reportedly invokes Article 259(2) of the Constitution and the Decorations Act, 1975, questioning whether routine official duties can really be classified as extraordinary public service.

Will the Presidency respond? If it does not, perhaps the awardees will simply have to accept the honour. Congratulations!


On the same evening, the Islamabad city administration (ICT) and Islamabad Police organised “A Parade” at D-Chowk as part of the Independence Day celebrations. The public event was largely appreciated, but the appearance of the Chief Commissioner Islamabad, who also happens to chair the CDA, and the Inspector General of Islamabad Police riding together on a buggy certainly added an unexpected royal touch to the proceedings.

Social media, naturally, noticed. The federal interior minister who days earlier had revealed that ‘system has collapsed’, later offered a rather thoughtful explanation: the chief guest was late because of other engagements, and the two senior officers were apparently directed not to give the public any “further pain” by making them wait any longer. So, instead of waiting on the ground, the two high-ranking officials were placed on the buggy. Problem solved, and, apparently, history made.

Days later, however, the prime minister took stern notice, expressing disappointment and displeasure over the display of pomp and show. The officials were advised to demonstrate humility, restraint and dignity, and to ensure that such conduct would not recur.

The public, meanwhile, appreciated the parade. The gathering was somewhat thin, but perhaps that too was part of the national restraint. Big Congratulations!

Most recently, on Monday, August 24, 2026, yet again during the month of our Independence, a group of students at Sarhad University’s Islamabad campus staged a protest over issues about the reinstatement of their Head of Department, fee structure and class arrangements.

The university’s female Head of Student Affairs, approached the protesting students in an attempt to engage with them and resolve their grievances; however, some of the agitated students reportedly misbehaved her. She subsequently called her husband, a serving military officer, for assistance.

Upon entering the university premises, the officer confronted the students; after a quick exchange of harsh words, he scuffled and opened ariel fire, apparently to intimidate protesting students. Several mobile-phone videos, including footage portraying the officer’s conduct during the incident, subsequently went viral on social media.

Having watched all the viral videos circulating on social media and thoroughly examined the matter at the campus, many are now showering praise on the civilian-military couple for their “gallant” intervention in resolving the issue, with some even recommending that the President confer upon them the prestigious Sitara-e-Imtiaz. Big congratulations!

Meanwhile, according to the official version, the officer has since been taken into custody and disciplinary proceedings have been initiated against him. The Pakistan Army has reiterated that discipline, accountability and justice remain its foremost institutional priorities, and that appropriate action will be taken in accordance with the findings of the ongoing inquiry.

Read Also: CONSTITUTION WEEPS, POLITICIANS SPEAK, CITIZENS WAIT IN PAKISTAN

Talking to this scribe, Shahzad Anwar Farooqi, a senior journalist and political commentator, said it was unfortunate and a matter of concern that Pakistan was declining in almost every field, with sports being no exception.

“Over the years, whatever Pakistan has achieved in various sports has largely been because of individual brilliance and natural talent. Teamwork never really worked in our sporting history. Now, unfortunately, those individuals are also missing,” he lamented.

Farooqi said Pakistan no longer produced players of the class of Abdul Razzaq, Shoaib Akhtar and Wasim Akram, to name a few. “Perhaps players of that calibre still exist, but where are the eyes that can identify them and put them into the playing arena?”

He questioned the current selection system, saying policies were often made in closed rooms. “How can a selector identify the quality of a player without watching him in domestic cricket? Statistics can tell you who performed best, but they cannot always reveal a player's real quality under different circumstances, pitch, ground conditions, facilities and other factors, unless selectors are physically present.” So, politics is everywhere, and the system has collapsed, he concluded.

Now, we have reached a point where failure is celebrated as survival, mediocrity as achievement, privilege as merit and misconduct as gallantry. Whether it is sport, education, administration, institutions, or public life, we no longer seem interested in fixing the system; we are merely competing to explain why its latest failure deserves congratulations.

After 80 years, the walls have finally fallen, and instead of rebuilding them, we are busy applauding the collapse. Big congratulations, Pakistan!

Mahtab Bashir is a journalist and holds M.Phil degree in Political Science and International Relations from Quaid-i-Azam University, Islamabad.

WHY YOU SHOULD TOUCH GRASS BEFORE GRASS TOUCHES YOUR PATIENCE

MUHAMMAD IBRAHIM MAHTAB mahtabbashir@gmail.com 0333 53 63 248 ISLAMABAD There are many great questions that humanity has attempted to answe...