Professor Rashid Scandal Gomal University D I Khan < UPDATED • PICK >
Yet, it is precisely within these constraints that Professor Rashid finds a profound contentment. The forced distance from global pop culture has deepened his engagement with local traditions. The lack of commercial leisure has sharpened his appreciation for intellectual companionship. He is not a man suffering from a lack of entertainment; rather, he has curated a life where discipline, faith, family, and the life of the mind provide a deeper, more sustainable form of joy. He is a custodian of a slower, more intentional way of living—one where a good conversation is worth more than a thousand reels of curated videos.
A figure of his stature cannot escape the social web of D.I. Khan. He is frequently invited to baraats (weddings). These are not quick affairs but multi-hour commitments, the primary entertainment being the dhol (drum), the attan dance (performed by younger men, he mostly taps his foot), and the lavish meal. He also attends milads (religious gatherings) and jirgas (councils) when his academic opinion is sought. These events blur the line between duty, lifestyle, and entertainment; they are the social glue of his existence. professor rashid scandal gomal university d i khan
To paint this picture honestly, one must note the constraints. The lifestyle of Professor Rashid is shaped by an environment of limited resources. Internet connectivity is patchy; accessing JSTOR or a Nature paper can be an exercise in frustration. The nearest city with a proper bookstore is Multan, three hours away. There is no cinema, no live music venue, no art gallery. Entertainment must be generated, not consumed. Yet, it is precisely within these constraints that
Professor Rashid’s lifestyle begins before dawn. In D.I. Khan, the early morning offers a brief, precious window of cool air before the sun unleashes its full authority. He is an early riser, performing his Fajr prayer as the call to echo from the city’s mosques, including the historic Shahi Masjid. This spiritual anchor is non-negotiable. Following this, he retreats to a modest veranda overlooking a small garden—a rarity in this arid climate, maintained with care. Here, with a cup of sab chai (the local green tea, unsweetened and spiced with cardamom), he reads. It is not frantic grading or administrative emails, but deep reading: a journal article on postcolonial theory, a few pages of Allama Iqbal’s poetry, or the latest issue of The Herald . He is not a man suffering from a
His primary recreation is the weekly mujlis (gathering) at his home. Every Thursday evening, three or four like-minded colleagues—a historian from the Arts faculty, a political scientist, and a retired civil servant—gather on his veranda. Over plates of saag and makai ki roti in winter or samosay and pakoray in monsoon, they debate. The conversation is rigorous, often louder than necessary, covering everything from the latest IMF agreement to the nuances of Pashtunwali. There is no television blaring; the entertainment is the cut and thrust of ideas. Occasionally, they recite poetry—a couplet by Faiz Ahmed Faiz or a humorous verse by a local poet. This is his opera, his theater, his weekend blockbuster.
For Professor Rashid, Gomal University is not merely a workplace; it is the epicenter of his social and intellectual ecosystem. The campus, with its sprawling, sun-bleached buildings and eucalyptus-lined paths, provides a semi-autonomous world. His lifestyle is therefore profoundly campus-centric. Mornings are for lectures and office hours. He engages with students from districts like Tank, South Waziristan, and Zhob—young men and women (though the gender dynamic remains traditionally segmented) for whom a university degree is a ticket to a different future. He is known for his "chalk and talk" method, but interspersed with qissas —anecdotes from his own student days in Peshawar or a trip to London for a conference. This narrative style is his primary entertainment within working hours.