saqiab khan
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tramp visit to grand mousqe sheikh zayed
Today was a truly special and unforgettable day as I had the opportunity to visit one of the most iconic and breathtaking landmarks in the United Arab Emirates — the Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque in Abu Dhabi. Known for its stunning architecture, peaceful ambiance, and spiritual significance, the mosque attracts millions of visitors from around the world each year. As I stepped into its majestic surroundings, I felt a sense of awe, peace, and admiration that is difficult to describe in words.
By saqiab khan8 months ago in Art
🌟 Why the Museum of the Future in Dubai Should Be on Every Tourist’s Bucket List in 2025
If you're planning a trip to Dubai and want more than just luxury hotels and shopping malls, there’s one place you absolutely can’t miss — the Museum of the Future. Located in the heart of Dubai along Sheikh Zayed Road, this iconic museum offers a one-of-a-kind journey into the world of technology, sustainability, space exploration, and wellness.
By saqiab khan8 months ago in Art
Only a Pen and a Page
Plastic body, fine tip, ink that flows a little too quickly if I press too hard. And a plain white page — no lines, no fancy border, no watermark. To most people, these are ordinary things. Stationery. School supplies. Objects easily replaced, easily ignored. But to me, they are sacred. They are my escape, my comfort, and my way of breathing without making a sound. I don’t remember exactly when it began — maybe during a restless night, or in the corner of a dull classroom, or after a fight that left me with too many emotions and nowhere to put them. All I know is, once I picked up that pen and let it touch the page, something inside me shifted. The world outside blurred. And suddenly, I was heard — even if no one else was listening. With just a pen and a page, I can pour my soul out. Every frustration.Every silent tear. Every thought that never found its voice in the real world.They find a home here. I write about everything and nothing — the way the sun hits the window in the afternoon, the smell of rain on hot pavement, dreams I had when I was six, fears I don’t speak aloud, and people I miss without admitting it. Sometimes it’s a messy tangle of words, spilling out too fast to catch. Other times, it's quiet — a single line that takes me hours to write because it has to be just right. Some might look at my pages and see no structure, no rhythm, no “art.” No polished poetry, no groundbreaking ideas. And they’d be right. I’m not trying to impress anyone. This isn’t for a contest. This isn’t meant to hang in a gallery or go viral on the internet. It’s for me. It’s raw .It’s honest.It’s my truth, unfiltered. There are days when I feel completely alone — surrounded by people, yet isolated in thought. On those days, I reach for my pen like someone reaching for a friend. It doesn’t judge. It doesn’t interrupt. It lets me be messy, be vulnerable, be exactly who I am. And somehow, with every word I write, I feel a little less alone. It’s not always sad, though. Sometimes I write when I’m happy — when I’ve laughed so hard my stomach hurts, when a song on the radio takes me back to a beautiful memory, or when someone says something that stays with me long after the conversation ends. I capture those moments, too, so I can revisit them when the world feels heavy again. This small ritual — pen on page — is my therapy. My prayer. My rebellion against forgetting who I am. I’ve kept these pages over the years. Stuffed in drawers, hidden under my bed, sealed in old shoeboxes. I go back to them sometimes, flipping through faded ink and creased paper. I see how much I’ve changed, and how much I’ve stayed the same. I see wounds I thought would never heal, now just scars on old pages. I see dreams I once had, some fulfilled, others replaced. And through it all, I see a quiet strength — mine. People often ask me why I don’t type instead. “It’s faster,” they say. “More efficient.” But that’snot the point. Typing feels distant. Digital. But writing by hand — it’s personal. My fingers feel the rhythm. My hand cramps when I write too long, reminding me that this is real, that effort matters. The smudges of ink, the uneven lines — they’re part of the story, too. So no, it’s not a masterpiece.It won’t hang on walls or win awards. But it holds my soul. And that’s more than enough. In a world that moves too fast, that demands too much, where we’re expected to smile even when we’re breaking inside — this simple act of writing grounds me. It reminds me that even if no one else understands me completely, I do. And as long as I have my pen and a blank page, I’ll always have a place to return to. Because sometimes, the smallest things — Just a pen, Just a page — Can hold the biggest parts of us.
By saqiab khan8 months ago in BookClub
Strike Eagles of Pakistan
In the heart of the towering mountains of northern Pakistan, where the sky meets the earth in a breathtaking display of nature’s might, the soldiers of the Pakistan Army and the pilots of the Pakistan Air Force (PAF) stood ready for an unspoken battle—one that had simmered for years and was about to boil over. Their mission: to protect the sovereignty of their homeland against the rising threats on its borders, and to do so with precision, courage, and unmatched resolve.
By saqiab khan8 months ago in History
A True Story of the May 2025 India–Pakistan Conflict
In the spring of 2025, South Asia once again stood on the edge of a dangerous conflict. Tensions between India and Pakistan had been simmering quietly, as they often do, but the peace shattered like glass on April 22, when a devastating terrorist attack in Pahalgam, Kashmir, killed 26 civilians, including women and children. India blamed the attack on Pakistan-based militant groups, primarily Jaish-e-Mohammed and Lashkar-e-Taiba—names that had echoed many times before in similar tragedies. This time, however, something felt different. The Indian public was furious, social media was ablaze, and calls for retaliation rang louder than ever. With elections looming and national sentiment boiling, the Indian government moved quickly. On May 7, the Indian military launched Operation Sindoor—a coordinated campaign of precision missile strikes across the Line of Control (LoC) and deep into Pakistan. The targets included known militant training hubs in Muridke, Bahawalpur, Kotli, and Muzaffarabad. The message was loud and clear: this time, India would not just respond—it would punish. According to Indian defense sources, over 100 militants were neutralized, including top commanders. Satellite images and intercepted communications suggested that several facilities were completely destroyed. The attacks were carried out with high-altitude drones, air-launched missiles, and supersonic cruise weapons, avoiding direct combat to minimize casualties on both sides. But the quiet didn’t last. Retaliation from the West On May 10, as the world held its breath, Pakistan retaliated with what it called “Operation Bunyan al-Marsus”. The Pakistan Air Force launched strikes on several Indian forward military bases, attempting to hit fuel depots and radar systems. Cities like Pathankot, Barmer, and Srinagar were put on high alert as air raid sirens wailed. India responded with a second wave of attacks, this time striking deeper into Punjab and Sindh, including a devastating raid on the Rahim Yar Khan airbase, allegedly destroying runways and grounded aircraft. India’s advanced Rafale jets played a key role, with electronic warfare support and night-capable targeting systems. Pakistan claimed to have shot down five Indian jets, but India denied the loss. As missiles flew and fighter jets roared over contested skies, millions across both nations sat glued to news broadcasts, praying for peace and fearing the worst. Schools were closed. Hospitals were placed on emergency footing. Both countries moved ballistic missile units into readiness. The world began to whisper a word no one wanted to say aloud: nuclear. A Call from the World As the conflict escalated, international diplomacy kicked into high gear. The United States, along with China, Saudi Arabia, and the United Nations, urged both sides to step back before the situation became uncontrollable. On the night of May 10, after more than 72 hours of conflict, a US-brokered ceasefire agreement was reached. India and Pakistan both agreed to halt offensive operations immediately and pull back air forces from border zones. But the cost had already been felt. Aftermath and Reflection Though the war officially lasted less than four days, it left behind a trail of destruction and diplomatic scars. India claimed a strategic and moral victory, stating that the world had witnessed its resolve against terrorism. In Uttar Pradesh, 17 newborn girls were named “Sindoor”, in honor of the military operation. In Pakistan, however, emotions were mixed. Some viewed the response as necessary defense; others criticized the leadership for not being adequately prepared. There were internal debates about military coordination and the increasing reliance on foreign-supplied aircraft and weapons. On social media, citizens from both countries shared photos of destroyed schools, bomb shelters, and injured civilians. Hashtags like #NoMoreWar, #PrayForPeace, and #Sindoor2025 trended across platforms. While politicians made speeches and generals gave press briefings, ordinary people on both sides mourned the lives lost and futures broken. A Fragile Peace The ceasefire held, but not without tension. Sporadic drone sightings and minor cross-border shelling were reported even after the agreement. Diplomatic channels remained hot, and a new wave of negotiations began—this time with more pressure from global superpowers. In the end, this short but sharp war served as a brutal reminder of how fragile peace can be in South Asia. In less than 100 hours, two nuclear-armed neighbors had stood just a breath away from a catastrophic escalation. And once again, it was diplomacy—backed by fear and history—that saved the day. Final Note To some, this war was about vengeance. To others, it was a show of strength. But for the mothers who lost children, for the pilots who never came home, and for the border villagers who still can’t sleep at night—it was nothing but another chapter in a long, painful story that both nations are still writing.
By saqiab khan8 months ago in History
Starting to See Myself Clearly
There was no dramatic movie-moment epiphany. No spotlight, no orchestra. Just a quiet noticing—first a whisper, then a growing murmur in the back of my mind that refused to be ignored. It started when I came across a thread online. Someone was talking about their life as an autistic adult. I didn’t click expecting anything life-changing. I was just scrolling, killing time, half-distracted. But then I saw a sentence that made me stop cold: “I always thought I was just bad at being a person, until I learned I was autistic.”
By saqiab khan8 months ago in Photography
Ronaldo: The Last 10 Years,
From 2015 to 2025, Cristiano Ronaldo’s name remained etched in the minds of football fans across the world — not only as a symbol of greatness but as a testament to discipline, longevity, and the relentless pursuit of excellence. This final decade of his career wasn’t just about goals or trophies; it was about legacy.
By saqiab khan8 months ago in Gamers
🛑 TODAY: WAR BREAKS OUT BETWEEN PAKISTAN AND INDIA
Date: May 7, 2025; Srinagar/New Delhi/Islamabad – At precisely 3:40 AM IST today, the world woke up to a nightmare scenario long feared by diplomats and defense experts. War has officially broken out between India and Pakistan, following a deadly chain of events that escalated from a single attack to a full-fledged military confrontation.
By saqiab khan8 months ago in Criminal
Heartbeats Between Hunter and Hunted
The sun hung low over the African savanna, spilling gold across the endless grass. A light breeze stirred the tall blades, whispering secrets between earth and sky. Among the shimmering heat and shadows, two figures moved — one in patience, the other in innocence.
By saqiab khan8 months ago in Futurism
Clash of Road BMW"
When rivals race, legends are born. It was a warm Sunday evening, and the city streets pulsed with life. Neon signs flickered above busy sidewalks, and cars lined up at every intersection. Cutting through the noise came a deep, growling engine — a sleek black BMW, roaring down the highway.
By saqiab khan8 months ago in Art
