"Through My Eyes: Three Tales of Chaos, Childhood, and Conscience"

1. Borderline Drama: The Never-Ending Soap Opera of India and Pakistan

There’s a strange comfort in knowing that some things never change. Like how the India-Pakistan relationship remains stuck in a loop of tension, trade bans, and political one-upmanship. If you’ve ever watched a never-ending family drama on TV where everyone’s shouting, nobody’s listening, and the plot hasn’t moved an inch in ten seasons—then congratulations, you already understand South Asian geopolitics.

The recent trade war between the two nations reads more like satire than real news. One day it’s a wheat shipment being blocked, the next day it’s mobile apps being banned or a Bollywood film getting pulled. And in between, politicians from both sides play chess with public emotions—religion, history, pride, and nationalism are their pawns.

But let’s look beneath the noise. While high-level talks stall and TV debates rage, who’s actually losing? The answer is simple: the people. Farmers who used to export their crops, small businesses with cross-border suppliers, transport workers, artisans, informal traders—all caught in the fallout of egos. Meanwhile, arms manufacturers, media barons, and political elites are the ones still winning. Fear sells. Drama distracts. And votes—well, those are cheaper when people are angry and confused.

What’s tragic isn’t just the economic loss—it’s the slow erosion of something much deeper: human connection. Somewhere along the line, we stopped seeing each other as people and started seeing only flags, religions, and stereotypes. Our children are growing up with more hatred than hope. Our dialogues are now reduced to trolling and memes. Social media is the new battlefield, and empathy is a forgotten casualty.

We keep asking for peace, but refuse to practice basic respect. We ask for development, but destroy trade routes. We say we want prosperity, but starve the poor for pride. The political and social systems are deteriorating, not because we don’t have enough resources or intellect, but because we’ve forgotten how to be decent. And it’s ironic, isn’t it? Two countries that share history, food, music, and culture can’t seem to share a future. Maybe it’s time we stopped looking at each other through the lens of suspicion and started talking like neighbors instead of enemies. It won’t make for viral news, but it just might make life better.

2. Zavian and the Great Parenting Circus

Let me talk about something closer to the heart—and infinitely more complicated than global politics: parenting. Specifically, raising a child in a world that’s addicted to speed, screens, and senseless content. Meet Zavian, my little boy, who just last week asked me if dinosaurs had YouTube. He’s curious, energetic, smart, and manages to make me question my entire life philosophy before 9 a.m.

Raising Zavian has been the most beautiful chaos I’ve ever experienced. It’s like running a marathon with no training, while someone throws LEGOs at your feet every few steps. Every day is a new mission—getting him to eat without negotiations that would put the UN to shame, answering his random philosophical questions (“Baba, why do clouds not fall?”), and convincing him that brushing teeth won’t cause his brain to melt.

Now, our parents didn’t have half the things we have today—no high-tech strollers, no “blue light filters,” no baby monitor apps with AI sleep analytics. But what they had was presence. They looked us in the eye when we misbehaved. They held the line when we tested boundaries. They didn’t outsource bedtime stories to tablets or discipline to YouTube influencers.

And here we are, with access to Montessori YouTube channels, 3,000 parenting blogs, and food that’s gluten-free, sugar-free, and joy-free—yet somehow more confused than ever. We obsess over raising ‘gifted’ children, but forget to teach them patience, empathy, or how to apologize without prompting.

Don’t get me wrong—technology is a gift. But it’s also a trap. I’ve seen kids watch endless content that looks educational but numbs their imagination. I’ve seen parents (myself included) hand over screens just to steal 15 minutes of peace. But what are we really teaching them? That attention is a commodity? That instant gratification is normal?

Raising a child shouldn’t be about perfection—it should be about presence. I want Zavian to grow up kind, curious, and respectful. I want him to know that success isn’t just a title or a paycheck, but how you treat people who can do nothing for you. I want him to fail and get back up, to cry and still try, to be bored and still find wonder. And yes, I want him to know dinosaurs didn’t have YouTube—but they still ruled the world.

So here’s to all the parents out there, silently sacrificing sleep, sanity, and the last slice of cake. May we raise humans, not robots. And may our children someday remember the love, not the Wi-Fi password.

3. The Great Boycott: Fries, Faith, and the Fight for Palestine

There’s a new kind of activism brewing these days—one that starts with an Instagram post, peaks at a hashtag, and ends at the cash register. I’m talking about the global boycott of big Western brands like Coca-Cola, KFC, and McDonald's, particularly in Muslim-majority countries, in protest against Israeli aggression in Palestine.

The sentiment behind it is powerful and deeply emotional. As a Muslim, a father, and a human being, I feel the same outrage when I see the images of bombed hospitals, lifeless children, and grieving mothers. The pain is real, the injustice undeniable. We want to act. We want to make it stop. And so, we turn to what’s in our power—our wallet.

So we boycott.

But here’s the complicated part. Is it working?

Coca-Cola’s stock might dip for a week. A KFC franchise might see reduced footfall. But let’s not forget—most of these outlets in Muslim countries are locally owned, operated by Muslim entrepreneurs employing Muslim workers. So in many cases, we end up hurting our own economy more than the corporations we’re protesting against.

Worse, boycotts can become performative. People post selfies with “I don’t drink Coke anymore” but don’t show up to vote, donate, or write to their representatives. Some think avoiding a fast-food chain absolves them of the need for deeper, sustained advocacy.

That said, collective action still matters. If nothing else, it raises awareness. It puts pressure on brands to clarify their positions. It opens space for difficult conversations. But real change requires more. It requires political will. It requires international accountability. It requires us to move from boycotting burgers to demanding ceasefires, diplomatic pressure, and long-term peace negotiations.

Because the real goal isn’t punishing brands—it’s ending the suffering of Palestinians. It’s ensuring kids in Gaza can go to school without worrying about airstrikes. It’s creating a future where Zavian can one day visit the Middle East and find hope, not horror.

So yes, skip the Coke if you want. Support ethical businesses. But don’t stop there. Speak up. Educate yourself. Push your leaders. And most importantly, teach your children to care—not just with hashtags, but with heart.

Final Thoughts: Where Do We Go From Here?

In these three stories—of politics, parenting, and protest—I find one common thread: the slow erosion of empathy. We’ve become so absorbed in being right, being busy, being loud, that we’ve forgotten how to just be human.

Whether it’s India and Pakistan refusing to grow up, parents outsourcing love to gadgets, or protests that lose their purpose in noise—we’re at a crossroads. And what we need now isn’t more information, more outrage, or more policies. We need more understanding. More listening. More genuine care for each other’s lives, struggles, and stories.

I don’t claim to have all the answers. I’m just a father trying to raise a good boy in a confusing world. I want Zavian to inherit a planet where people talk before they shoot, raise children with love not fear, and stand up for justice with both passion and clarity.

Maybe that’s too idealistic. Maybe it’s not enough.

But it’s a start.