Opinion
Zia Mohyeddin: One of a kind
Born: 30 June (or 20 December) 1931, Lyallpur; Passed on: 13 February 2023, Karachi
By Beena Sarwar
The great Zia Mohyeddin was already a legend when I first interacted with him as an adult in the mid-1990s. He had recently moved to Lahore where I then lived at Lakshmi Mansion at Regal Chowk. I was working on the launch of weekly The News on Friday, a brainchild of my editor the multi-talented Imran Aslam who revered Zia sahib.
Both were alumni of the prestigious Government College Lahore and its GCDC, the Government College Drama Club. Knowing my family’s connection to Zia sahib, Imran asked me to approach him for a weekly column.
Pakistan’s progressive movement revolved largely around the great poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz, whose work Zia Mohyeddin so eloquently recited in his signature style, his distinctive, gravelly voice setting him apart from others. As part of the same circle, Zia sahib, born in 1931 in then Lyallpur (Faisalabad), Punjab, knew my father Dr M. Sarwar who led Pakistan’s first nationwide student movement, the Democratic Students Federation, 1948-54.
Zia Mohyeddin breathed his last on the day Faiz sahib’s birth anniversary is celebrated. Feeling unwell, he had been rushed to the hospital where he had to undergo surgery for an aneurysm. He reportedly told the surgeon, “Do what you have to do fast and patch me up, I have a lot of work.” This included travelling to Lahore for the upcoming Faiz Festival, 17-19 Feb.
For over 30 years, Faiz sahib’s poems were among the literary pieces Zia sahib recited every 31st of December in Lahore at the annual ‘Zia Mohyeddin ke saath aik sham’ (an evening with Zia Mohyeddin). The tradition, started in 1986 by his nephew Naveed ‘Bobby’ Riaz, was interrupted only by the Covid-19 pandemic in 2019 and 2020.
A theatre graduate of RADA, London’s renowned Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, the suave Zia Mohyeddin had acted in several theatre productions, making his West End debut in ‘A Passage to India’ as Dr Aziz in 1960. He played memorable roles in Lawrence of Arabia (1962) and Merchant-Ivory’s Bombay Talkie (1970) as well. He had also starred in Jamil Dehlavi’s Immaculate Conception (1994) and the mini-series, The Jewel in the Crown (1984).
For several years he hosted The Zia Mohyeddin Show, a talk show-cum-variety programme for Pakistan Television, 1969-73, showcasing talent from across the country with his trademark sophistication and wit.
“It was such a sophisticated, well presented show. I remember thinking, I wish we had more like him,” recalls feminist activist Khushi Kabir in Dhaka.
During most of Gen. Ziaul Haq’s military rule, Zia sahib had lived in self-exile in Birmingham, U.K. with his second wife, the iconic kathak dancer Nahid Siddiqui. Gen. Zia’s death in a mid-air explosion followed by Benazir Bhutto’s win in the already scheduled elections in 1988 cleared the way for the return of progressive activists, writers, and artists to Pakistan. Zia sahib and Nahid split up in 1991.
Shortly afterwards, aged little over 60, he met Azra Bano Zaidi, an emerging singer and actor through her friend, the singer Tina Sani. Their love story defied their 30-year age difference and the two had married in 1994.
Obtaining Zia sahib’s phone number from Bobby, I called and introduced myself. Zia sahib graciously invited me over. That’s when I first met Azra although our families have pre-partition connections. She is now a well established performer in her own right.
Over an elegant cup of tea, I explained what Imran Aslam wanted. Zia sahib knew Imran of course and liked the idea of writing a column. He was also firm about getting paid the top rate. He wouldn’t do a weekly piece but agreed to write a fortnightly one. The News on Friday became The News on Sunday after then Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif changed the weekly holiday to conform with international banking days. Unfortunately, the digital archives of The Zia Mohyeddin Column don’t go to his earlier writings.
Some years later, I interviewed Zia sahib for my first documentary, a project for my master’s degree in Television Journalism at Goldsmiths College, London. My focal character was Nahid Siddiqui, a symbol of how dance became a political issue under Gen. Ziaul Haq. Zia Mohyeddin had headed the PAA Performing Arts Academy where they met and where she began her career. Talking to me at his Lahore home in April 2001, he shared his disappointment at how bureaucracy and bigotry have combined to oppress the arts in Pakistan.
A perfectionist and a stickler for detail, equally at home in English and Urdu, Zia sahib would not tolerate a mixing of the two languages – or a misspelling of his name.In the mid-1990s, he painstakingly, for weeks, tutored a grandniece sitting for her ‘A’ Levels, horrified that she intended to substitute a reading of ‘Umrao Jan’ with watching the movie.
When she returned after the exam he wanted to know what the questions were and how she had answered them. The last part of the exam had been a test of the feminine-masculine terms, including the feminine of ٹٹو — ‘tattu’ (mule).
“And what did you write for the feminine?” asked Zia sahib.
Now a senior financial communications specialist in Boston, Rima Hyder still laughs as she recalls how Zia Mamoo, as she called him, leapt agilely onto a sofa in horror at her response. Standing on the sofa he called out to Rima’s mother Tasawar in the kitchen. What kind of daughter had she raised? But Tasawar herself didn’t know the correct answer.Outraged but amused, Zia sahib patiently explained that the feminine of mule in Urdu is ‘tattwani’ – not the word which translates as excretion.In 2005, he became the founding director of the National Academy of Performing Arts in Karachi which is still going strong. He has also received numerous awards and honours in Pakistan and abroad.
Zia Mohyeddin was the youngest of six siblings, with five older sisters. Family legend has it that when the baby Zia was born, his sisters announced their intention of skipping school to celebrate. Their father Khadim Mohyeddin, a writer and poet who was reportedly the first ‘professor of music’ at the University of Punjab, would have none of it.
His sole surviving sister Razia Ishaq, 101 years old, is a poet living in Indianapolis with her family. Besides Azra, he leaves two sons, Minos Ameer and Risha Ameer, from his first marriage with Sarwar Zemani; another Hassan “Moyo” Mohyeddin from Nahid Siddiqui, and a daughter, Alia, from Azra.
“He leaves behind a huge void,” says Nahid. “Just to have that kind of quality around in Pakistan was very consoling and inspiring.”
In June 2017, Zia sahib penned his last piece for TNS: ‘For nearly a quarter of a century I have been writing a column which appeared in this newspaper every fortnight. I am grateful to TNS which allowed my ramblings to be worthy enough to appear in a section called “Literati”. Enough is enough though, and my jottings on Hamlet should be considered as my swan song: Farewell!’
Farewell, Zia sahib. You will always be one of a kind.
Beena Sarwar is a journalist and journalism teacher in Boston. She is founder editor Sapan News Network. www.beenasarwar.com
This is a Sapan News syndicated feature available to use with credit to Sapan News Network – www.southasiapeace.com
Opinion
The shadow of a Truman moment in the Iran war
Wars often produce moments when leaders feel compelled to seek a decisive stroke that will end the conflict once and for all. History shows that such moments can generate choices that would have seemed unthinkable only months earlier. When Harry S. Truman authorised the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, the decision emerged from precisely such wartime pressures. As the conflict involving the United States, Israel and Iran intensifies today, the world must ensure that a similar moment of desperate calculation does not arise again.
The lesson of that moment in history is not that such weapons can end wars, but that once the logic of escalation begins to dominate wartime decision-making, even the most unthinkable options can enter the realm of strategic calculation. The mere possibility that such debates could arise is reason enough for policymakers everywhere to approach the present conflict with extreme caution.
As the war drags on, both Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu will face mounting pressure to produce decisive results. Wars rarely remain confined to their original scope once expectations of rapid victory begin to fade. Political leaders must demonstrate progress, military planners search for breakthroughs, and public narratives increasingly revolve around the need for a conclusive outcome. In this environment, media speculation about “exit strategies” or “off-ramps” for Washington can unintentionally increase pressure on decision-makers. Even well-intentioned commentary can shape the climate in which leaders make decisions, potentially nudging them toward harder, more dramatic actions.
Neither the United States nor Israel lacks the technological capability associated with advanced nuclear arsenals. The nuclear arsenals of advanced powers today are far more sophisticated than the devices used in 1945. While their existence is intended primarily as deterrence, prolonged wars have historically forced strategic communities to examine every available option. Even the discussion of such possibilities is deeply unsettling, yet ignoring the pressures that produce such debates can be dangerous.
For that reason, policymakers and societies on all sides must recognise the full range of choices that prolonged wars can place before leaders. For Iran’s leadership and its wider strategic community, absorbing this reality may be essential if catastrophic escalation is to be avoided. From Tehran’s perspective, the conflict may well be seen as existential. Yet history also shows that wars framed as existential struggles can generate the most dangerous strategic decisions.
The intellectual climate in Washington has also evolved. A number of influential voices in Washington now argue that the United States has become excessively risk-averse and that restoring global credibility requires a more assertive posture. Such arguments reflect a broader shift toward the language of renewed deterrence and strategic competition. Yet this very logic can make it politically harder for leaders to conclude conflicts without visible demonstrations of strength.
The outcome of this conflict will also be watched closely by other major powers. In 1945, the atomic decision was shaped not only by the desire to end a brutal war but also by the strategic message it sent to rival states observing the emergence of a new geopolitical era. Today, other significant powers will similarly draw lessons from how the United States manages both the conduct and the conclusion of this conflict.
This is why cool judgment is essential at this stage of the war. Whether the original decision to go to war was wise or ill-advised is now largely beside the point. Once a conflict has begun, the overriding priority must be to prevent escalation into something far more dangerous.
In such moments, the international system can benefit from the quiet diplomacy of actors that retain a degree of strategic autonomy. Among emerging nations, India stands out as a major emerging power in this regard. Despite its energy dependence on the Gulf and deep economic engagement with the United States, India has consistently demonstrated a capacity to maintain independent channels of communication across geopolitical divides.
This unique positioning may allow New Delhi to explore, discreetly and without public fanfare, avenues for de-escalation with Washington, Tel Aviv and Tehran alike. At moments of heightened tension in international politics, the world sometimes requires what might be called an “adult in the room”: a state capable of engaging all sides while remaining aligned exclusively with none.
If the present conflict continues to intensify, the value of such diplomacy may soon become evident. The most important lesson from 1945 is not only the destructive power of nuclear weapons but the pressures that can drive leaders toward choices that later generations struggle to comprehend. History shows that when wars reach their most desperate phases, restraint remains the only safeguard against catastrophe.

(Milinda Moragoda is a former Cabinet Minister and diplomat from Sri Lanka and founder of the Pathfinder Foundation, a strategic affairs think tank, can be contacted via email@milinda. This was published ndtv.com on 2026.03.1
by Milinda Moragoda
Opinion
Practicality of a trilingual reality in Sri Lanka
Dr. B.J.C. Perera (Dr. BJCP) in his article ‘Language: The symbolic expression of thought’ (The island 10.03.2026) delves deeper into an area that he has been exploring recently – childhood learning. In this article he writes of ‘a trilingual Sri Lanka’, reminding me of an incident I witnessed some years ago.
Two teenagers, in their mid to late teens, of Muslim ethnicity were admitted to the hospital late at night, following a road traffic accident. They had sustained multiple injuries, a few needing surgical intervention. One boy had sustained an injury (among others) that needed relatively urgent attention, but in itself was not too serious. The other had also sustained a few injuries among which one particular injury was serious and needed sorting out, but not urgently.
After the preliminary stabilisation of their injuries, I had a detailed discussion with them as to what needed to be done. Neither of them spoke Sinhala to any extent, but their English was excellent. They were attending a well-known international school in Colombo since early childhood and had no difficulty in understanding my explanation – in English. The boys were living in Colombo, while their father would travel regularly to the East (of Sri Lanka) on business. The following morning, I met the father to explain the prevailing situation; what needs to be done, urgency vs. importance, a timeline, prioritisation of treatment, possible costs, etc.
Doctor’s dilemma
The father did not speak any English and in conversation informed me that he had put both his boys into an International School (from kindergarten onwards) in order to give them an English education. The issue was that the father’s grasp of Sinhala was somewhat rudimentary and therefore I found that I could not explain the differences in seriousness vs, urgency and prioritisation issues adequately within the possible budget restrictions. This being the case and as the children understood exactly what was needed, I then asked the sons to ‘educate’ the father on the issues that were at hand. The boys spoke to their father and it was then that I realised that their grasp of Tamil was the same as their father’s grasp of Sinhala!
In the end I had to get down a translator, which in this case was a junior doctor who spoke Tamil fluently; explained to him what was needed a few times as he was not that fluent in English, certainly less than the boys, and then getting him to explain the situation to the father.
What was disturbing was having related this episode at the time to be informed that this was not in fact not an isolated occurrence. That there is a growing number of children that converse well in English, but are not so fluent in their mother tongue. Is English ‘the mother tongue’ of this ‘new generation’ of children? The sad truth is no and tragically this generation is getting deprived of ‘learning’ in its most fundamental form. For unfortunately, correct grammar and syntax accompanied with fluency do not equal to learning (through a language). It is the natural process of learning two/three languages (0 to 5 years) that Dr. BJCP refers to as being bilingual/trilingual and is the underlying concept, which is the title of Dr. BJCP’s article ‘Language: The symbolic expression of thought’.
“Introduction into society”
It is critical to understand at a very deep level the extent and process of what learning in a mother tongue entails. The mother’s voice is arguably the first voice that a newborn hears. Generally speaking, from that point onwards till the child is ‘introduced into society’ that is the voice he /she hears most. In our culture this is the Dhorata wedime mangalyaya. Till then the infant gets exposed to only the voices of the immediate /close family.
Once the infant gets exposed to ‘society’ he /she is metaphorically swimming in an ocean of language. Take for example a market. Vendors selling their wares, shouting, customers bargaining, selecting goods, asking about the quality, freshness, other families talking among themselves etc. The infant is literally learning/conceptualizing something new all the time. This learning process happens continuously starting from home, at friends/relatives’ houses, get-to-gathers, festivals, temples etc. This societal exposure plays a dominant role as the child/infant gets older. Their language skills and vocabulary increase in leaps and bounds and by around three years of age they have reached the so-called ‘language explosion’ stage. This entire process of learning that the child undergoes, happens ‘naturally and effortlessly’. This degree of exposure/ learning can only happen in Sinhala or Tamil in this country.
Second language in chilhood
Learning a second language in childhood as pointed out by Dr BJCP is a cognitive gift. In fact, what it actually does is, deepens the understanding of the first language. So, this-learning of a second language- is in no way to be discouraged. However, it is critical to be cognisant of the fact that this learning of the second language also takes place within a natural environment. In other words, the child is picking up the language on his own. As readily illustrated in Dr. BJCP’s article, the home environment where the parents and grandparents speak different languages. He or she is not being ‘forcefully taught’ a language that has no relevance outside the ‘environment in which the second language is taught’. The time period we (myself and Dr. BJCP) are discussing is the 0 to 5-year-old.
It does not matter whether it is two or three languages during this period; provided that it happens naturally. For as Dr. BJCP states in his article ‘By age five, they typically catch up in all languages…’ To express this in a different way, if the child is naturally exposed to a second /third language during this 0 to 5-year-old period, he /she will naturally pick it up. It is unavoidable. He /she will not need any help in order for this to happen. Once the child starts attending school at the age of 5 or later, then being taught a second language formally is a very different concept to what happens before the age of 5.
The tragedy is parents, not understanding this undisputed significance of ‘learning in/a mother tongue’, during the critical years of childhood-0 to 5; with all good and noble intentions forcefully introduce their child to a foreign tongue (English) that is not spoken universally (around them) i. e., It is only spoken in the kindergarten; not at home and certainly nowhere, where the parents take their children.
Attending school
Once the child starts attending school in the English medium, there is no further (or minimal) exposure to his /her mother tongue -be it Sinhala or Tamil. This results in the child losing the ability to converse in his/her original mother tongue, as was seen earlier on. In the above incident that I described at the start of this article, when I finally asked the father did he comprehend what was happening; his eyes filled with tears and I did wonder was this because of his sons’ injuries or was it because his decisions had culminated in a father and a son/s who could no longer communicate with each other in a meaningful way.
Dr BJCP goes on to state that in his opinion ‘a trilingual Sri Lanka will go a long way towards the goals and display of racial harmony, respect for different ethnic groups…’ and ‘Then it would become a utopian heaven, where all people, as just Sri Lankans can live in admirable concordant synchrony, rather than as a splintered clusters divided by ethnicity, language and culture’. Firstly, it must be admitted from the aspect of the child’s learning perspective (0 to 5 years); an environment where all three languages are spoken freely and the child will naturally pick up all three languages (a trilingual reality) does not actually exist in Sri Lanka.
However, the pleasant practical reality is that, there is absolutely no need for a trilingual Sri Lanka for this utopian heaven to be achieved. What is needed is in fact not even a bilingual Sri Lanka, but a Sri Lanka, where all the Sinhalese are taught Tamil and vice versa. Simply stated it is complete lunacy– that two ethnic communities that speak their own language, need to learn another language that is not the mother tongue of either community in order to understand one another! It is the fact that having been ruled by the British for over a hundred years, English has been so close to us, that we are unable to see this for what it is. Imagine a country like Canada that has areas where French is spoken; what happens in order to foster better harmony between the English and French speaking communities? The ‘English’, learn to speak French and the ‘French’ learn to speak English. According to the ‘bridging language theory of Sri Lanka’, this will not work and what needs to happen is both communities need to learn a third language, for example German, in order to communicate with one another!
Learning best done in mother tongue
eiterating what I said in my previous article – ‘Educational reforms: A Perspective (The Island 27.02.2026) Learning is best done in one’s mother tongue. This is a fact, not an opinion. The critical thing parents should understand and appreciate is that the best thing they can do for their child is to allow/encourage learning in his/her mother tongue.
This period from 0 to 5 years is critically important. If your child is exposed naturally to another language during this period, he /she will automatically pick it up. There is no need to ‘forcefully teach’ him /her. Orchestrating your child to learn another language, -English in this instance- between the ages of 0 to 5 at the expense of learning in his /her mother tongue is a disservice to that child.
by Dr. Sumedha S. Amarasekara
Opinion
Tribute to Vijitha Senevirathna
APPRECIATION
On Friday, the 20th of March, Vijitha Senevirathna would have celebrated his 85th birthday if not for his sad passing away nearly a year ago.
The passing of Vijitha was a moment of great sorrow to all who knew him.
He was my classmate from Montessori to pre-university at Maris Stella College, Negombo. As a Maristonian, Vijitha excelled in his academic studies.
Eventually, he entered the Law College and practised as an Attorney-at-Law and Notary Public for over 50 years.
As an Attorney-at-Law, Vijitha earned the respect of the judiciary and a wide circle of clients. He upheld the highest and most cherished values of the legal profession and earned the trust of all who knew him. His 50th anniversary in the noble profession of law was celebrated with much pageantry, amidst a distinguished gathering of friends, relations, clerics, and the rich and famous of Sri Lanka.
Vijitha dearly loved his proud wife Nirmali and his six children, who are in the highest professions in Sri Lanka. He inculcated among his children professional efficiency, diligence, and honesty.
We who associated closely with Vijitha miss his warm friendship, sense of humor, and animated conversation. He was a raconteur, and people gathered around him and listened to his narrations and tales of yore, especially at the many celebrations at his residence in Dehiwala, where the waters of Scotland flowed generously.
I have personally admired Vijitha’s patience, grit, and lifetime achievements, despite a physical dysfunctionality he suffered over his lifetime.
For Vijitha, the song has ended, but the melody lingers on, in the words of the popular composer Irving Berlin.
Merrick Gooneratne
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