1. What’s your most random talent?

I can drive off-road surprisingly well.

2. Which fictional world would you move into tomorrow?

The world of Superman.

The future of Quetta, whether it will always be overlooked or if things will eventually get better.

4. What’s your “I can talk about this for hours” topic?

Current affairs.

5. Which smell instantly takes you somewhere else?

The scent of red roses. It reminds me of my father and brings back deep personal memories.

6. What’s one thing you miss from a simpler time?

7. If your energy today were a weather forecast, what would it say?

A tornado with a chance of thunder.

8. What would your warning label be?

“Aap hamare paas aaye hain, aap muskuraiye.” (You’ve come to me, so at least give me a smile.)

9. What’s a hill you’re willing to die on?

That Balochistan is far safer and more beautiful than many people assume.

10. What’s the most impulsive thing you’ve done?

Going on a luxury shopping spree without much planning.

11. What’s your comfort boredom activity?

Doomscrolling.

12. What’s one thing you’re still figuring out?

How to stay completely true to myself while also being the best person I can be.

13. What’s your most unnecessary but beloved habit?

Randomly breaking into dance in the middle of a conversation.

14. What feels overrated to you?

Some Gen Z fashion trends.

The post Short n Sweet – Adnan Behrani appeared first on Glam Magazine.

Long before Punjabi rap and urban fusion became a global phenomenon, Roach Killa aka Rehan was blending reggae, hip-hop and Punjabi music into a sound uniquely his own. Born in Libya, raised in Canada and now based in the UK, the artist has built a career on crossing cultural and musical boundaries. From groundbreaking chart successes to collaborations with some of South Asia’s biggest legends, he speaks about the experiences, struggles and inspirations that have shaped his remarkable journey.

Your collaboration with Arif Lohar resulted in one of the most celebrated Punjabi anthems of recent years. How did the song come about?
That happened very naturally. I met Arif Lohar in England in 2018 through a mutual connection. We sat together casually at his brother’s house, and he asked me to play him a couple of beats. I played one beat and he liked it, then I played another with a distinctive flute melody. Instantly, he started singing along. Once he heard it, he loved it, and with Dr. Zeus producing the track, it became a powerful combination of legends and new energy. There was no overthinking, no big studio setup — it was just musicians vibing together in the moment. Sometimes the best songs are born like that.

It seems you’ve developed a knack for turning dream collaborations into hit records. You’ve now teamed up with Abrar-ul-Haq on a track that’s already making waves?
After the success of the Arif Lohar collaboration, doors opened. A close friend, Jibran, shared a musical idea with me, and we kept discussing which voice would truly suit the song. Eventually we realized it had to be Abrar-ul-Haq. Once we presented it to him, he connected with it immediately. For me, working with him was another full-circle moment because I grew up listening to his music too.

Songwriters often draw inspiration from people and moments around them. Your mention of “dimple” in the track has intrigued fans—what inspired that lyric, and who, if anyone, is it dedicated to?
That line came about in a funny, spontaneous way. When I came to Pakistan after gaining success abroad, I kept seeing huge billboards of Hania Aamir everywhere. I asked my friend, “Who is she? She’s everywhere — and she’s very pretty!” Later, while writing the song, I needed a rhyme for the word “cute.” The image of those billboards popped into my head, and the line “dimple is cute” came naturally. It wasn’t planned as some grand dedication — it was just a spontaneous lyric born in the moment, which is often how songwriting works.

You were born in Libya, raised in Canada and now living in Birmingham. And you come from a Pakistan family. How have these diverse cultural influences shaped your identity as an artist?
I think my different backgrounds and cultures have deeply influenced my music. My mother’s side of the family is Iranian, my father’s side is Punjabi, I was born in Libya, and then I grew up in Canada before eventually moving to England. So, I’ve been exposed to Arabic, Punjabi, Urdu, Persian, Jamaican and Western influences all at once. I’ve always believed language is important because it carries culture and emotion. Being born in Libya also left a strong impression on me. I was there during difficult political times, even witnessing air-raid sirens and bombings as a child. Those experiences made me understand life from a different perspective very early on. At the same time, growing up in Canada exposed me to reggae, hip hop and multicultural communities. All of these influences come together in my music. I don’t think there are many artists who can naturally blend Punjabi, Urdu, Arabic, reggae and Western sounds in one identity. I feel blessed that my upbringing allowed me to be that diverse artist.

Your stage name, Roach Killa, is one of the most distinctive names in Punjabi music. What’s the story behind it?
When I was younger, some people used to call me “Roach,” and the nickname just stuck. Later, when I started making music, I wanted a name that would stand out and be impossible to forget. I combined “Roach” with “Killa” and created something unique. Whether people love it or hate it, they remember it — and that’s important in music.Another reason I liked the name was that it didn’t immediately tell people who I was or where I came from. People couldn’t easily judge whether I was Punjabi, Pakistani, Indian, white or black; they had to listen to the music first. I’ve always believed that music should be judged on its own merit, not on an artist’s appearance, ethnicity or background. Looking back, the name has become a huge part of my identity and represents the individuality that I’ve tried to bring to my music throughout my career.

At a young age, you were drawn to Reggae, a genre not commonly associated with South Asian artists at the time. What initially attracted you to it?
When I was a kid, my brother brought home a tape by Apache Indian. I remember looking at the cover and thinking, “This guy looks Pakistani or Indian.” Then I listened to the music and heard Punjabi mixed with Jamaican reggae and dancehall. That completely connected with me because I was growing up in neighbourhoods where there were a lot of Jamaicans and people spoke Patois around us. So, for me, reggae never felt foreign. It felt natural. That’s why later on I also moved to Birmingham in England, because Punjabi music there had already started blending with reggae culture in a big way as Birmingham is one of the main hubs for Punjabi urban music. I also loved the mystery and freedom of reggae culture. People didn’t know whether the artist was desi, white or black — they judged the music first. That idea has stayed with me throughout my career.

Long before Punjabi rap became mainstream, you were blending Punjabi lyrics with Reggae and Dancehall. Did you realize at the time that you were helping create a new lane in the industry?
Honestly, no. I think artists rarely think in those terms while they’re creating. Music is about capturing a moment and expressing what feels natural. At that time, blending Punjabi with reggae and hip hop simply reflected how I had grown up. Later on, people started calling it a new lane or a new genre, but for me it was just authenticity. We were making music that sounded like our lives.

What challenges did you face introducing a sound that many listeners had never heard before? Was the music industry ready for your style when you first emerged?
Definitely not. In our culture, there was a stigma attached to it. People would say, “Why are you trying to sound black? You’re desi.” A lot of listeners expected Punjabi artists to only do traditional bhangra music. But that wasn’t my reality. I grew up in a Western environment surrounded by reggae and hip hop, so my music reflected that. The backlash was real, but it also motivated me. I always say: criticism can either stop you or sharpen you. For me, it made me work harder and prove that Punjabi music could exist in an urban, international space too.

Your song Yaara Dildara became the first rap song to reach number one on the BBC Asian Network. What did that achievement mean to you personally?
It meant a lot because I had gone to England with almost nothing — about $300 in my pocket, sleeping on friends’ sofas, walking long distances just to save money for food. So, when Yaara Dildarareached number one on BBC Asian Network, it felt like validation for the years of struggle. So that meant a lot because once you get to a level where people accept your music as an artist, it only motivates you to do more. What made it even more special was that the song was doing something completely fresh at the time: authentic hip hop rap blended with qawwali and Sufi elements. It even replaced Imran Khan’s “Amplifier” at number one, and that was a huge song back then. For me, it was proof that taking creative risks could pay off.

You’ve collaborated with artists ranging from Apache Indian and Spragga Benz to Gippy Grewal and Garry Sandhu. How was the experience and which collaboration challenged or surprised you the most?
Every collaboration has its own story. I’ve been fortunate to work with legends across reggae, Punjabi music and Bollywood, including Arijit Singh and Neha Kakkar. For me, the biggest thing is when an established artist wants to work with you because of your talent, not because you paid for a feature. That’s when you know your music is truly being respected. One collaboration that felt especially meaningful was working with Arif Lohar. Growing up listening to songs like “Billo”, I never imagined I’d one day create music with him. That was a dream come true.

Having witnessed the industry’s evolution over the years, how would you describe the biggest changes in Punjabi music?
Punjabi music used to be dominated by traditional instruments and folk structures. Now, artists keep the authenticity of Punjabi vocals but pair them with urban and Western production. If you listen to artists like Sidhu Moosewala or Bilal Saeed, the vocals remain rooted in Punjabi or Urdu culture, but the soundscape is global. That’s a huge evolution. Punjabi music is no longer confined to one region — it’s part of international pop culture now.

Today, Punjabi music enjoys global recognition. What do you think artists from your generation contributed to making that possible?
We broke barriers. When we started, there were very few platforms for Punjabi urban music. No streaming, limited radio support — we were selling tapes and CDs by hand. Artists from our generation helped put places like Toronto and Birmingham on the Punjabi music map. We made diaspora identity part of the music. Today, Punjabi artists can reach global audiences instantly through streaming, but that infrastructure was built over decades by earlier generations pushing boundaries.

Do you feel pioneers of Punjabi rap and urban music receive enough credit for laying the foundation for today’s success?
Honestly, no. I think our culture sometimes forgets its pioneers too quickly. People say “old artist” instead of “legendary artist.” If artists before you hadn’t taken the risks, many of these lanes wouldn’t exist today. In rock music, legends continue to receive lifelong respect. I hope our industry develops that same culture of honouring the people who paved the way.

Has your creative process changed significantly since your early days in the industry? And what inspires you today compared to when you first started making music?
My core process hasn’t changed much. I still believe the best music comes from the heart, not from chasing trends. If you only follow trends, your song expires when the trend does. I also avoid listening to too much outside music when I’m creating because I don’t want to subconsciously copy anyone. I want people to hear Roach Killa, not a version of someone else.

Every artist faces setbacks. What did it teach you?
One of the hardest things has been dealing with the political and cultural divisions that sometimes affect artists. Music has no borders, but artists often get pulled into conversations that have nothing to do with music. I’ve always believed musicians should have the freedom to collaborate across cultures and countries. When people listen to a song, they respond emotionally first. Music connects human beings before politics divides them. That taught me to stay focused, like a horse with blinders on — not distracted by noise on either side.

Now looking back on your journey from a young reggae enthusiast in Canada to an internationally recognized artist, what achievement makes you the proudest?
Every achievement is special, but the proudest moment for me was creating a song that became a global anthem associated with Pakistan: “Aa” featuring Arif Lohar and Deep Jandu. That song is played in stadiums, PSL matches, IPL matches and events worldwide. Knowing that your music becomes part of your country’s cultural memory is incredibly humbling. Even if I stopped making music tomorrow, that legacy would remain.

When the story of Punjabi music’s evolution is written what chapter do you believe Roach Killa would represent?
I’d say we represent one of the pioneering chapters of Punjabi urban fusion music. We weren’t the very first chapter, but we were among the artists who helped define and expand this sound globally. Especially with reggae and dancehall influences in Punjabi music, I believe my name will always be part of that story.

The post East Meets West and More – Roach Killa appeared first on Glam Magazine.

A seminar titled ‘Karo Kari: Bury This Barbaric Practice’ was organized at the Karachi Press Club under the platform “Dukhtaran-e-Karachi.” Senior political leaders, human rights activists, lawyers, parliamentarians and members of civil society strongly condemned the inhumane practice of so-called honour killings and demanded strict implementation of existing laws.

The seminar was chaired by politician Nasreen Jalil, while the organizers included Aamir Siddiqui, Dr. Ubaid Ali, and MNA Sabeen Ghauri. Among the prominent participants were Chairperson Senate Human Rights Committee Senator Samina Mumtaz Zehri, renowned women’s rights activist Mahnaz Rahman, Nuzhat Shireen and others.

Addressing the seminar, Senator Nasreen Jalil stated that Karo Kari is not merely an outdated custom but an outright act of terrorism and murder against humanity. She said that Islam provides no justification whatsoever for killings in the name of honour and emphasized that the feudal mindset and oppressive tribal structures have pushed Sindh into darkness.

Senator Samina Mumtaz Zehri and Senator Khalida Ateeb highlighted those 34 women had reportedly been targeted in the name of honor in Sindh during the past four months, while the horrifying incident of a young girl being buried alive in بلوچستان shocked the conscience of humanity. They noted that police and administrative authorities often appear helpless before influential feudal elements, resulting in many incidents not even being registered through FIRs.

Senator Aamir Chishti stressed that society must rise above political affiliations and unite collectively to eradicate this brutal practice, adding that the sanctity of human life must remain paramount.

Speaking on the legal dimensions of the issue, Fareeda Mangrio emphasized the urgent need to strengthen prosecution in honour killing cases so that no criminal can escape the grip of the law.  The speakers expressed grave concern that more than one thousand women fall victim to such barbaric practices every year, while nearly fifty percent of the incidents remain unreported due to pressure from influential feudal figures and the parallel jirga system. Reference was also made to the recent Rubina Chandio case, where attempts were allegedly made to weaken the case by altering legal provisions.

Participants urged strict implementation of the 2016 Anti-Honour Killing Act in its true spirit, noting that under the law, courts retain the authority to sentence perpetrators to life imprisonment even if the heirs pardon the accused.

At the conclusion of the seminar, participants demanded that the government arrest all those involved irrespective of political influence and pledged that the platform of “Dukhtaran-e-Karachi” by MQM. Pakistan would continue its awareness campaign until the complete eradication of this barbaric practice.

The post Voices Against Karo Kari appeared first on Glam Magazine.

The Arts Council of Pakistan Karachi organised a graceful event titled “An Evening of Classical Dance” at Auditorium I to mark International Dance Day. Renowned dancer Sheema Kermani and Head of Dance Academy Mani Chao addressed the audience, while Romana Hussain moderated the event.

The evening began with a Manipuri dance performance, followed by a colourful showcase of various classical dance forms. Sheema Kermani, accompanied by her students, delivered captivating performances celebrating the beauty, heritage, and artistic depth of classical dance. She also expressed solidarity with Palestine by performing while wearing a traditional Palestinian scarf.

A large number of artists, students, teachers, and art enthusiasts attended the programme. Speaking on the occasion, Sheema Kermani said that International Dance Day was a tribute to all those striving for humanity, peace, and justice, while also thanking the audience for their support.

Mani Chao said that despite difficult circumstances, the dance community continues to spread joy and positivity through dedication and artistic expression. He added that the continued support of Arts Council President Mohammad Ahmed Shah has played an important role in promoting fine arts and providing opportunities for artists, particularly dancers.

The audience warmly applauded the performances of Sheema Kermani, Muhammad Asif, Dawood Bhatti, Taimoor, Yasir, Muhammad Alam, Javeria, Neena, KP, and Irma.

The post Classical Dance Evening Held in Arts Council of Pakistan Karachi to Celebrate International Dance Day appeared first on Glam Magazine.

Bisma Qamar is a dynamic communications strategist and youth advocate bridging the gap between Pakistan’s grassroots talent and global platforms. Through her work with the United Nations and the Prime Minister’s Youth Programme, she leverages her dual-cultural background to champion Gen Z leadership and redefine Pakistan’s narrative on the world stage.

You built a strong presence in communications and youth advocacy; what first drew you to this path?
To be completely honest, my path was shaped by a dual perspective. Growing up in the United States and then transitioning back to Pakistan, I witnessed firsthand how the power of storytelling and strategic communication can catalyze change in ways that financial resources alone cannot. I realized early on that impact isn’t just about what you give, but how you connect.
The primary spark for my motivation was my late brother-in-law, Mr. Hunaid Hussain Lakhani. He, along with my sister, was deeply immersed in philanthropic work that touched the lives of many. Watching their dedication to social work, women’s development, and youth empowerment as a child was transformative. It wasn’t just about charity for them; it was about building a legacy of empowerment. That exposure rooted a desire in me to use communication as a bridge between the problems we face and the solutions we can create together.

Was there a defining moment when you realized the power of communication as a tool for change?
That realization solidified when I moved back to Pakistan. I was essentially a stranger in my own home—I lacked a network, faced a significant language barrier, and was unfamiliar with the local cultural nuances. I quickly understood that if I wanted to sensitize myself to this environment and make a difference, I had to master communication as a survival and transformation tool.
I began by identifying small, often overlooked societal issues and unconventional challenges. I started writing and speaking about these topics, and the moment people began to engage with these “unconventional” conversations, I saw the shift. It was a defining moment because it proved that authenticity and clear messaging could bypass lack of resources. By speaking truth to power and articulating the needs of the youth, I was able to develop authentic relationships that eventually opened doors to major opportunities.

How would you describe your personal brand today, and how has it evolved over time?
When I started this journey, I didn’t have a calculated blueprint for a “brand.” It evolved organically through action and consistency. If I look back now, I would say my personal brand is synonymous with passion. Whether I am advocating for rural development, women’s empowerment, or youth leadership, that core enthusiasm is what people recognize.
It has evolved from a series of scattered projects into a cohesive mission. I don’t view it as a static image I’m trying to project, but rather a living reflection of my commitment to Pakistan’s future. For me, personal branding isn’t about self-promotion; it’s about nurturing a reputation for reliability and advocacy that continues to grow as I do. I want my brand to remain a testament to the fact that when you lead with passion, the influence follows naturally.

Your association with the UN has been a significant milestone. What did that experience teach you about representing Pakistan on a global stage?
Representing Pakistan at the United Nations taught me that our country’s narrative is often missing its most vital element: the immense, untapped potential of our youth. Having seen both sides of the world—living in the US and then Pakistan—I noticed a massive disconnect between the talent that exists on the ground and how it is perceived globally.
Being a Gen Z representative for Pakistan is more than a milestone; it is an obligation and a source of immense pride. My experience taught me that representation is about translation. I have to translate the aspirations and capabilities of Pakistani youth into a language that global stakeholders understand. It’s a responsibility to ensure that our talent is not just seen, but effectively utilized, creating a pipeline of opportunities for the generations following in my footsteps.

What are some misconceptions about Pakistani youth that you feel need to be challenged internationally?
The most prevalent misconception is that Pakistan is still in a “developing” phase when it comes to talent—that we are “getting there” rather than “already here.” On global forums and in international educational institutions, we are still underrepresented in senior leadership and high-level decision-making roles. This creates a gap in how the world views our capabilities.
We need to challenge the idea that we are merely recipients of global aid or direction. The reality is that Pakistani youth are ready to contribute at the highest levels. It is now about channelizing that energy and using our government and member-state support to aggressively uplift the image of Pakistan. We are not just a country of potential; we are a country of performers who simply need the right stage.

How do you balance global perspectives with local realities when working on youth-focused initiatives?
I believe you cannot have an effective global voice if you haven’t lived the local reality. For me, it is a “reverse mechanism.” You can only advocate for change or eradicate misconceptions on a global stage if you have a deep, lived understanding of the ground-level sensitivities and challenges in Pakistan.
I make it a point to stay connected to the grassroots because that is where the truth lies. When I speak at an international forum, I’m not just sharing theories; I’m sharing experiences of women in rural areas or the struggles of young professionals in our cities. Balancing these perspectives means ensuring that global policies are actually applicable to our local context. I strive to be the bridge that ensures global resources meet local needs in a way that is respectful and sustainable.

How can educational institutions better prepare students for real-world communication and leadership?
Our educational institutions need to move beyond the rigid compartmentalization of degrees. We have created silos where students are taught specific technical skills but lack self-awareness and the ability to pivot. Real-world leadership requires a mindset that can adapt to unconventional paths.
We must encourage students to explore beyond their set curriculum and focus on talent and passion rather than just a GPA. If students are passionate about social change but are stuck in a rigid degree programmes, they often hit social and academic barriers that stop their potential in its tracks. Institutions should be facilitators of talent, helping youth navigate these barriers so they can branch out into areas that could fundamentally change the face of Pakistan.

Through organizations like the Pakistan Society for Training and Development (PSTD), you’ve worked closely with young professionals. What trends are you seeing in the new generation?

I’m seeing a massive shift toward “hustle culture,” which is quite inspiring. The new generation is no longer satisfied with a traditional nine-to-five; they are constantly upskilling and multitasking. There is a newfound realization at a very early age that learning and development are lifelong pursuits.
As the Head of Global Learning and Conferences at PSTD, I’ve worked at the intersection of multinationals, the social sector, and academia. I’m noticing that corporates are now much more inclined toward CSR and Diversity & Inclusion (D&I) initiatives. They are starting to see Gen Z not just as “junior staff,” but as valuable contributors who can hold senior positions based on merit rather than age. This breaking of the “seniority equals experience” myth is a major trend that is opening doors for young leaders to redefine corporate culture in Pakistan.

You are working with Rana Mashood on the Prime Minister’s Youth Programme. How is it developing?
I am currently serving as a focal person for youth and global linkages for both the Pakistan and USA chapters, working closely with the Chairman of PMYP, Mr. Rana Mashood. Our focus is built on the “Four Es”: Employment, Education, Environment, and Entrepreneurship.
We are developing this by curating platforms that provide equal access to youth, whether they are in remote rural areas of Pakistan or part of the diaspora in London and New York. The goal is to create a sustainable loop where the successful Pakistani youth abroad can mentor and create opportunities for the youth back home. By leading delegations to international forums like the UN Economic and Social Forum, we are building the global linkages necessary to ensure that Pakistani talent is recognized, supported, and given a seat at every important table.

How has your family been supportive in the choice of your work?
I have been incredibly fortunate to have a family that didn’t just support my choices, but actively pushed me to be more. My older siblings have been my true mentors, guiding me through the nuances of my career and advocating for my independence.
Making the move from a comfortable life in the US to working on the ground in Pakistan—often in challenging conditions—required a lot of courage, but my parents never hesitated. Even when my work takes me to remote areas or requires me to travel internationally alone, my father and mother have always had an “always yes” attitude. They believed that if I felt a calling to do this, I should go for it, and we would figure out the logistics later. I wouldn’t be able to serve the government or represent Pakistan at the UN if it weren’t for their unwavering belief in my potential. They are the most integral part of every milestone I achieve.

The post A Beacon of Light for the Youth appeared first on Glam Magazine.

Refusing to be reduced or read easily, Saba Qamar turns contradiction into power—and ambiguity into her sharpest weapon.

In an industry conditioned to reward binaries—good or bad, virtuous or villainous—Saba Qamar has built an empire in the in-between.

 Often likened to Hollywood icon Meryl Streep for her transformative acting range, Saba is less a performer and more a presence—an actress who dissolves into contradiction, embraces fracture, and chooses women who are difficult, disruptive, and defiantly real. “Grey characters are more real… more human,” Saba says. “Perfection is boring… flaws are interesting.”
In that ethos lies her quiet rebellion—not just against the industry, but against the very idea of being easily understood.

Her journey into acting—particularly from a conservative Syed family—was not rebellion, but alignment. “Choosing acting wasn’t simple. There was hesitation… resistance… even within myself. But there was a quiet, persistent pull I couldn’t ignore,” Saba stresses. “Acting wasn’t about glamour—it felt like a way of expressing what I couldn’t say out loud.”
At some point, waiting for approval became more dangerous than uncertainty.
“If I kept waiting for everything to feel safe, I might never step into what I truly felt aligned with. So, I chose the leap. It wasn’t rebellion—it was conviction.”
Saba also resists the mythology of reinvention. “I think the woman I am today was always there… in an unformed way, “Saba asserts. “Life didn’t create her—it revealed her. The losses, the uncertainty—they strip away what isn’t real.” Her strength was not constructed—it was uncovered. “I didn’t become someone new. I understood who I already was—and learned how to stand in that fully,” Saba emphasizes.

Saba’s early breakthrough came through the satirical comedy Hum Sab Umeed Se Hain, where her mimicry and timing revealed a sharp comic instinct—one often overshadowed by the gravity of her later work. But it was her transition into layered drama—Maat, Digest Writer, Sangat, Baaghi and Cheekh—that redefined the female protagonist on Pakistani television, particularly on Hum TV. “If the role doesn’t scare me, I don’t want to do it, Saba proclaims forthrightly.
About Baaghi, inspired by the life of slain internet phenomenon Qandeel Baloch, Saba says; “I didn’t want to copy her… I wanted to understand her. There was so much pain behind that confidence.” About Cheekh Saba opines; “Women are always told to stay quiet. I wanted to show what happens when she doesn’t. Silence is the biggest crime.”

If earlier roles challenged society, Case No. 9 demanded something more dangerous—total emotional immersion. “Emotional scenes take a real toll… on the mind and the body, Saba reveals. “I’ve learned to take care of myself and breathe through it.” The role however did not end when the cameras stopped. “These characters don’t just disappear. When you go through something intense, you don’t erase it—you grow from it. The emotions stay.” Her portrayal of a woman navigating trauma within a hostile system became less performance, more indictment.

Her biggest project, Hum TV’s Muamma, which ran through early 2026 and concluded in April, marked a striking turn into psychological territory. As Jahan Ara—a layered, obsessive, and deeply complex woman—Saba delivered one of her most intense performances in recent years. The drama drew strong audience engagement for its slow-burn exploration of trauma, manipulation and power within confined domestic spaces. Saba embodied a psychologically complex woman whose quiet volatility is driven by moral ambiguity and psychological unease, her intention not to seek redemption but to expose the unsettling truth that the darkest impulses are often deeply human—and dangerously self-justified. “There’s no bigger devil than humans. Fear is not outside… it’s within us.” Saba said about the hugely successful serial. In Muamma, empathy fractured. The audience was implicated. And Saba operated at her most restrained—and most unsettling. Industry chatter already places this role among her most compelling post-Baaghi and Cheekh performances.

Saba says her engagement with a character begins in silence. “I try to sense the soul of the character… what is she hiding… what wounds is she carrying.” She says she doesn’t construct performances—she allows them to surface.
“I don’t rush it. Slowly, she reveals herself.”
On set, ego dissolves into discipline. “I’m here to serve the story, not my ego. I’ll give a hundred takes if needed.” And ultimately Saba values honesty over flattery; “You can feel the difference between truth and formality.”

Saba’s transition to cinema—particularly Hindi Medium opposite Irrfan Khan—brought international acclaim. “Working with Irrfan was like going to an acting school… he was so real, you forgot the camera was there,” Saba enthuses. She chose the project for substance—not scale. And it showed.

Saba’s off-screen life carries the same refusal to romanticise pain. Speaking candidly about an eight-year toxic relationship; “We are taught not to leave the first man… but that one sentence ruined eight years of my life,” Saba says ruefully. “He lied to me… humiliated me… it destroyed my mental peace,” she adds.
Her clarity now is unwavering; “I don’t want to be stuck in an abusive relationship… I want compatibility. Love should be unconditional—but not at the cost of your peace,” she insists.

Saba’s voice extends beyond performance into critique. “People often joke about mental stress… but experiencing it first-hand is eye-opening”, she muses. “We’re also still stuck in labels… I believe in gender equality.” She further challenges the culture of scrutiny; “Why do we discuss someone’s appearance… and then target their personality.”  Saba’s advocacy on mental health—particularly during World Mental Health Month—remains grounded and urgent; “Mental health is just as important as physical health… talking about it is a sign of strength.”

As a National Ambassador for UNICEF, Saba has extended her influence into child rights and girls’ empowerment—particularly against child marriage in Pakistan.
“Why should any child be forced into a future they did not choose?” she challenges. Her work bridges visibility and responsibility—amplifying voices often unheard. In an industry where silence is often survival, Saba has chosen confrontation. Following defamatory claims by a journalist, she pursued legal action with clarity;
“No one has the right to make false accusations just for attention.” Her stance reinforced dignity in an environment that often weaponised speculation, especially against women.

Despite immense popularity, Saba Qamar remains curiously distant from the machinery of celebrity. “I want to live life, not just spend it,” she opines.
No relentless visibility. No overexposure. Even controversies—from the Badshahi Mosque photoshoot to public scrutiny of her personal life—have not diluted her authority. If anything, they reinforce it.
She controls the narrative—by choosing what not to reveal.

Beginning 2026 with the huge success of Muamma , looking ahead, Saba returns to a more relationship-driven narrative with Hurmat, an upcoming Hum TV drama co-starring Ahmed Ali Akbar, written by Kashif Anwar. Expected later in 2026, early indications suggest a grounded, emotionally resonant story—offering a deliberate contrast to Muamma’s psychological intensity. Beyond that, Saba has hinted at yet another undisclosed project on a different channel—signalling a multi-network presence and continued dominance across screens. Meanwhile, the Urduflix web series Mandi in which Saba plays Uzma Rana, a powerful, ambitious politician alongside Mikaal Zulfiqar, Ainy Jaffri, and Shayan Khan, remains in development, with details still under wraps. Taken together, her trajectory reflects a deliberate evolution: from social realism (Case No. 9) to psychological depth (Muamma), and now toward a balance of mainstream storytelling and experimental range.The industry consensus is clear—2026 is not a pause, but an expansion. Saba Qamar isn’t slowing down—she is widening her canvas.

There are rare moments in an actor’s career when multiple narratives run in parallel—when every screen carries their presence. Saba Qamar is living that moment.
But unlike the frenzy that consumed earlier superstars, Saba remains grounded, precise, and indifferent to noise. She shows up. She does the work. And she leaves.
“I don’t act… I feel.,” she clarifies.
From a grief-marked childhood in Hyderabad to international recognition, Saba Qamar is not merely a star—she is a shift. From glamour to gravity. From archetype to ambiguity. From performance to presence.
She gives you everything on screen.
And just enough of herself to keep you wondering…

The post Saba Qamar — The Art of Being Unclassifiable appeared first on Glam Magazine.

Haris Haroon Karim, CEO of Saltanat Restaurant, has redefined fine dining in Pakistan with a vision that blends quality, tradition and innovation. Managing over 1,100 employees and eight banquet halls, his journey is a testament to perseverance and purpose. In this exclusive interview, he shares insights into the making of Saltanat, the challenges of the restaurant industry, and his philosophy on leadership, team culture and future ambitions.

1. Your journey in the hospitality industry has been described as inspiring. What first drew you towards the restaurant business, and how did the idea for Saltanat Restaurant come to life?
   From a young age, I was curious about why people were discouraged from eating outside food, often due to concerns about quality and hygiene. This curiosity evolved into a passion for cooking and a desire to offer better standards. During COVID, a call from a chef friend about a distressed staff member highlighted the harsh realities faced by hospitality workers. In response, I started a small cloud kitchen from home with a modest investment, employing around 25 people. That experience reshaped my vision. I wanted to build something larger—where food could be prepared in bulk, reducing costs while maintaining quality, and allowing people to access meals with dignity. What began as a small initiative gradually transformed into a purpose-driven venture, which ultimately led to the creation of Saltanat Restaurant.
   As the CEO of Saltanat, how would you describe your vision? And what impression would you like the guests to leave with?
   My vision for Saltanat has always been to create more than just a restaurant—it is an experience. As one of the largest restaurants in Pakistan, with over 1,100 employees, it is built on scale, diversity, and strong infrastructure. We offer a wide variety of cuisines, live music throughout the week, and multiple dining environments, from open-air to indoor fine dining. Families and friends come here to spend quality time and create lasting memories. Ultimately, I want every guest to leave with a sense of joy and connection, associating Saltanat with happiness and togetherness.

• Saltanat is known for blending tradition with modern sophistication. How do you maintain the balance?
  Innovation is essential—you have to move forward with time while staying true to your core values. At Saltanat, we never compromise on quality; that remains our foundation. Our focus is not on just profit, but on serving excellent food, earning respect, and building a strong reputation. To maintain balance, we offer a diverse menu that caters to all generations from traditional cuisine to modern favourites like hot pot, which is especially popular among younger guests. We also have delicious options for children. By combining variety with consistent quality, we ensure that every guest finds something they enjoy while experiencing both tradition and modernity.

The restaurant industry can be highly competitive. What strategies have helped Saltanat stand out in such a dynamic market?
The restaurant industry is highly unpredictable—many places open and close quickly. What sets Saltanat apart is patience, consistency, and the right intentions. This business demands more than time; it requires complete dedication as it operates 24/7. At the same time location plays a critical role. Unlike typical highway restaurants, we chose a central city location to make it convenient for guests, reducing travel time to just 15–20 minutes. Most of my other businesses are nearby, which streamlines operations and allows staff to focus on service. By combining dedication, quality, and strategic location, along with hard work and perseverance, Saltanat has been able to sustain itself and stand out in a highly competitive market.

How important is team culture in the success of a restaurant, and how do you cultivate it within your organization?
Team culture is the backbone of any successful restaurant. With so many employees, our strength lies in diversity—we have people from different regions, religions and backgrounds, all working together as one. This unity reflects the true spirit of Pakistan. We focus on creating a sense of belonging, where employees feel valued and connected. By fostering mutual respect, shared meals, open communication and motivation, we build a strong community within the organization. When people work with passion and feel like they are part of something bigger, it naturally reflects in the service and overall experience we deliver.

How do you see Pakistan’s fine dining and hospitality industry evolving in the coming years?
Given the current economic situation, the future of fine dining and hospitality industry in Pakistan remains challenging. Rising inflation and increasing costs of raw materials have significantly impacted operations, while consumers’ purchasing power continues to decline. For many middle-class families, dining out—especially fine dining—has become less affordable. As a result, restaurants are often perceived as expensive, even though much of the cost is driven by external factors. Moving forward, only those who can maintain quality while adapting to these financial pressures are likely to sustain. It will be a difficult phase, with fewer people being able to regularly experience fine dining in the near future.

• Running a restaurant empire can be demanding. How do you personally stay motivated and creatively inspired and what advice would you give to young entrepreneurs in Pakistan who aspire to enter this industry?
  My motivation comes from the lives connected to Saltanat. With over 1,100 employees depending on this restaurant, I see how our work directly impacts families—their children’s education, daily meals, healthcare, and even life milestones like weddings. Knowing that our efforts provide stability and opportunities for so many people keeps me inspired and focused, even during challenging times. It reminds me that the restaurant is not just a business, but a responsibility and a source of purpose. For young entrepreneurs, this is an important lesson: the restaurant industry demands full commitment. It is a 24/7 job, and if you cannot dedicate yourself completely, balancing it with personal life becomes extremely difficult. Only with passion, perseverance, and a willingness to give your all can one truly succeed in hospitality.
• What are your long-term plans for Saltanat? Can we expect expansion, new concepts and international ambitions?
  Expansion is certainly on the horizon, as many people have requested branches. However, maintaining the quality and reputation of the original Saltanat remains my top priority. Rapid growth could dilute focus, so I am cautious about franchising. In the future, Insha’Allah, we may explore international branches, particularly in Saudi Arabia and Europe, creating a “home away from home” for Pakistanis, while keeping authenticity and excellence at the forefront. I have a total of eight banquet halls, with two more under construction. My journey began in 2012, during the hardest time of my life, when I had little money. In 2018, I opened my first hall, and over time, Allah blessed me to expand to eight. Most are on the same property, and combined with the restaurant, we can accommodate around 1,150 people.

The post Blending Tradition with Modernity – Haris Karim appeared first on Glam Magazine.

From a household steeped in music to the bright lights of Coke Studio and Pakistan Idol, Simal Nafees is carving her own identity in Pakistan’s music scene. Born into a renowned musical family, she has navigated expectations, creative challenges, and the pressures of public performance to emerge as a singer with a distinctive voice and artistic integrity. In this interview, Simal reflects on her journey, her inspirations, and the milestones that have shaped her growth as a performer and as an artist.

Q1. How did music become your calling and which people, sounds or cultural influences shaped your desire to become a singer?

I come from a strong musical lineage. My grandfather, Ustaad Fateh Ali Khan, was a highly respected sitar maestro of the subcontinent who devoted his life to music, and my father continued that legacy. Music was innate for me, a part of my upbringing. I grew up seeing my father practise the sitar in the drawing room, and we would listen and absorb it as children.

My mother also played a significant role. At home, she would play legends such as Iqbal Bano, Malika Pukhraj, Farida Khanum and Mehdi Hassan, along with Indian greats like Lata Mangeshkar and Asha Bhosle. Music was always playing in the background; it became inseparable from our lives. At the same time, my father exposed us to Western music — jazz, Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey and ABBA. I vividly remember him playing Dancing Queen and I Have Nothing, completely immersed in the experience. Watching his passion shaped my own connection to music.

Q2. What challenges have you faced in your musical journey so far, creatively, professionally and personally? How do you stay motivated and grounded when navigating them?

Creatively, my main challenge was discovering my own musical identity. I grew up with very strong influences from my parents, so when I began exploring genres such as pop, Western music and even rap in my early teens, it took time to understand what truly resonated with me. I also had to balance music with academics, as my education was always prioritised, which meant there was a period when I stepped away from formal musical training.

Professionally, the greatest challenge has been establishing my own identity while being known as my father’s daughter. I am incredibly proud of him, but that comes with immense responsibility and high expectations. I often felt there was no room for mistakes, whether in my performance or personal conduct. Creating my own space in the industry required resilience and self-belief.

Personally, stepping out of his shadow was important. As the eldest daughter, I was raised in a protective environment. Moving to Islamabad alone for my A-Levels helped me gain independence, confidence and clarity about who I am — both as a person and as an artist.

Q3. How would you describe your artistic identity and are there particular themes or stories that consistently shape your voice and style?

My artistic identity is rooted in sincerity and intention. For me, music is sacred — it is not something I pursue purely to earn money. I am educated, I work full-time, and I hold a Bachelor’s degree in Filmmaking from an institution affiliated with Collège de Paris. My profession provides financial stability, which allows me the freedom to approach music with integrity rather than compulsion. I never want to reach a point where I accept a concert solely for financial reasons and end up performing songs that do not resonate with me.

To me, good music is music that I genuinely enjoy and can share with others in a respectful environment. While I have great respect for those who earn their livelihood through music, I have consciously chosen to keep my relationship with it personal and meaningful. An experience in my teenage years shaped this perspective profoundly. After performing at Coke Studio in 2016 at the age of sixteen, I received several opportunities, including international concerts. At one particular event, I realised that the audience was disengaged, and some individuals behaved inappropriately while I was performing. I was very young, and standing on stage, I felt deeply uncomfortable and disheartened. It made me question whether I wanted to place myself in situations where my craft was not respected.

For a while, I withdrew and became more reserved. However, that experience clarified something important: I never want financial pressure or public validation to dictate my art. Music, for me, is an escape, a source of joy and expression. I want to protect that purity. That philosophy continues to shape my voice, my choices and the kind of spaces in which I choose to perform.

Q4. You’ve released music that resonates emotionally with listeners. Which milestones in your musical journey feel most meaningful to you so far?

I have released several songs and collaborated with artists such as Arshad Mehmood sahib, but for me, milestones are often personal moments of validation rather than grand achievements. One of the most meaningful was performing with the late Zia Mohyeddin sahib, who was known for his high standards. I was only eighteen, and when he expressed his approval of my performance, it meant a great deal to me. Another milestone — one I am still striving towards — is receiving open praise from my father. As my teacher, he is rigorous and rarely offers direct compliments, which perhaps keeps me grounded.

Performing on Coke Studio at sixteen was a major turning point, and more recently, receiving a standing ovation from Rahat Fateh Ali Khan on Pakistan Idol, along with his generous praise after my performance of a Noor Jehan classic, felt like a truly defining moment in my journey.

Q5. What motivated you to audition for Pakistan Idol and how did standing on that stage change your perspective on your music, and growth as a performer?

Auditioning for Pakistan Idol was a turning point in my life. Initially, I didn’t even think I would make it past the first round. At the Arts Council audition I saw so many incredibly talented singers, and I felt nervous — not just about the competition, but also about proving that my opportunities were earned through my own efforts, not just because I am my father’s daughter. I was dealing with imposter syndrome, questioning whether people genuinely appreciated my talent.

The decision to audition actually came the night before. My mother was my biggest motivator; she reminded me that there is no age limit for dreams and encouraged me to just go for it. I was 25 at the time and worried I might be too old or outshone by younger singers, but her support gave me the courage to take that step.

Even though I didn’t make the top 16, the response to my audition was overwhelming. I received thousands of messages and comments praising my voice, which completely shifted my perspective. For the first time, I truly believed in my craft and felt validated as an artist. That experience gave me confidence, ended much of my self-consciousness, and marked a significant moment of growth as a performer.

Q6. Reality shows can be high pressure. How did you manage nerves, expectations and the public spotlight while staying true to your voice?

Reality shows are definitely high pressure — from choosing the right song to thinking about what will appeal to the public. For me, though, the focus was never on pleasing everyone; it was about performing what I could do well and what I truly connected with.

For my first performance, I chose Tum Sung Naina Lage by Rubina Badar, a relatively unknown song for today’s generation. I felt a deep connection to it, and that connection allowed me to perform confidently and authentically. The audience responded positively, and the song even gained renewed popularity online after my audition. That experience reinforced my approach: focus on what I do best, stay true to my artistic choices, and enjoy the process. That’s how I managed nerves and stayed grounded in the spotlight.

Q7.  Has audience reaction ever influenced or changed the way you think about a piece you created or performed?

Yes, especially when I was younger. After performing on Coke Studio, my sister and I toured with our girl band, opening for Junoon in North America, Dubai and the UK — including a performance at Wembley Stadium. I was overwhelmed just knowing I would perform there, imagining all the artists who had graced that stage before me. During those tours, we often chose songs that would energise the audience — songs people could dance to, like Jugni — to hype up the crowd before Junoon came on. It was exciting and fun, and I enjoyed sharing the stage with my band and the audience.

Now, however, my perspective has shifted. I prefer to perform music that I genuinely enjoy, rather than trying to please the crowd. If that means the audience is smaller, I am okay with it. My connection to the music comes first.

Q8. Apart from singing and performing, are you involved in any songwriting, collaborations or creative projects that you’re especially excited about?

I’m very excited about my music and collaborations. Working with Arshad Mehmood and my father, for example, is always inspiring because of the technical depth and the legendary experience they bring. I’m also part of an initiative called Voice of World, led by singer Samra Khan, where I have the opportunity to work with incredibly talented young women. I hope to collaborate with many of them in the future. Beyond collaborations, I’m focused on my own original music and developing new material. I’m open to creative projects of all kinds, and I’m excited for what the future holds.

Q9. When you look back from where you began and where you are today, what stands out most to you? 

What stands out most is coming into my own and being recognised for my talent, not just as my father’s daughter. It took a long time to step out of that shadow, and reaching this point — where people believe in me and my work — feels incredibly rewarding. I also feel proud that this journey has paved the way for my sisters, who are musicians as well. Seeing them have opportunities and thinking about how I can collaborate with them excites me for the future.

Another significant shift has been in the perception of our extended family. Initially, there were doubts about women pursuing music, but now I feel respected and supported for the work I do. That acceptance, along with being able to protect my artistic integrity, makes me proud of how far we’ve come.

The post Soaring with the Musical Notes – Simal Nafees appeared first on Glam Magazine.

Aaleen Bukhari is redefining Pakistan’s presence in international dressage as the Pakistan’s first female rider to compete on global platforms. Inspired by the grandeur of Vienna’s Spanish Riding School, her childhood fascination evolved into a lifelong calling shaped by discipline, resilience, and faith. From overcoming prejudice abroad to carrying Pakistan’s flag with pride, she is determined to place her nation firmly on the global equestrian map.

1. How did your journey with horses begin, and at what moment did that relationship evolve into a deeper dialogue—one that led you to realize dressage was not just a sport, but your true calling?

I feel like horses have been in my blood long before I even opened my eyes to the world. Some of my earliest memories are tied to them. When I was younger than five, my father showed me YouTube videos of the Spanish Riding School of Vienna, and I was completely mesmerized. The elegance, the discipline, the white Lipizzan stallions moving like they were floating, it felt unreal. As a little girl, I noticed there were no women riding there. Instead of discouraging me, it sparked something powerful. I wanted to be the first female there. I wanted to walk into those historic halls, learn their centuries-old techniques, and understand the artistry behind that precision and harmony. That place felt like Narnia, like Harry Potter, where tradition, mystery, and excellence blended together. That was the moment dressage stopped being just a sport to me and became my destiny.

• As Pakistan’s first female dressage rider competing on international platforms, have you encountered pressure or skepticism because of your gender or nationality—and how have those experiences shaped you?

During my time in the UAE, I went through one of the most difficult chapters of my journey. I experienced racism from one of my coaches purely because of my nationality. It had nothing to do with my dedication or work ethic, it was simply prejudice. It was painful and isolating, but it also strengthened me. It forced me to develop thicker skin, sharper focus, and stronger self-belief. It taught me that not everyone will judge you by your talent, some will try to reduce you to where you come from or to your gender. But I made a decision: I will never allow anyone to define my limits. That adversity made me more resilient and deepened my commitment to prove that excellence has no gender and no borders.

• You have trained abroad, so what is it that Pakistan’s equestrian ecosystem is missing?

Pakistan’s equestrian system still lacks the discipline and structure required to meet true international standards. Many basic foundations are overlooked: grooming and stable care are not always consistent, feeding programs vary, veterinary management isn’t systematic, and horse welfare protocols aren’t strictly implemented.

Beyond that, there is an absence of professional structure, accountability, and a culture of precision. Discipline is not just riding technique, it includes stable management, training methodology, ethics, and respect for the horse as an athlete. If we want to stand confidently on international grounds, we must raise our standards in every aspect, because excellence begins long before a rider enters the arena.

• Dressage relies on an unspoken bond between horse and rider. How do you cultivate trust and connection with your horse, particularly when the pressure of competition is at its highest?

A true bond with a horse has to come from gentleness and sincerity. It cannot be forced. Horses are extremely sensitive, they read your emotions, your breathing, and even the tension in your body. That is why I always approach them with calmness, a soft tone, and reassurance through touch. In competition, the pressure is intense, and the horse feels everything you feel. In those moments, I consciously recite the name of Allah to steady my heart and slow my breathing. I also keep gently patting my horse even while performing, because that physical connection creates familiarity and comfort. It reminds my horse that this is not something frightening, it is simply another ride for us. That shared calmness strengthens our partnership.

• Every athlete encounters moments when walking away feels easier than pushing forward. In those moments of doubt, what anchors you and keeps you committed to the journey?

There are days when I genuinely feel like giving up. The pressure of training, competing, preparing entries, and constantly trying to meet higher expectations can become overwhelming. Sometimes it feels like too much mentally, physically, and emotionally.

But what brings me back is something deeper than ambition. Even on days when I’m not riding, I still find myself thinking about horses, talking about them, or watching them online. That connection keeps me grounded. At the core of everything, beyond titles and competitions, is my love for the horse itself. That love is my anchor, and it always brings me back.

• Dressage is as much about mental discipline as physical mastery. How has this sport reshaped your understanding of control, patience, and your own inner strength?

In my personal life, I’m honestly someone who could sleep all day. But everything about me changes when it comes to horses. Working closely with an animal that cannot speak back has taught me a level of patience I never knew I had. Progress cannot be rushed, and communication has to be calm, subtle, and consistent. This sport has also built quiet inner strength. Guiding an animal that weighs 600 to 700 kilograms requires confidence, self-control, and emotional stability. Beyond that, horses have become essential for my mental well-being. Being around them brings me peace, lifts my mood, and keeps me emotionally grounded. That peace is one of the greatest gifts dressage has given me.

• What has the response from Pakistani audiences, both at home and within the diaspora, meant to you on a personal and professional level?

It is one of the greatest feelings to know your homeland supports you and stands behind you. That kind of support makes me feel seen and reminds me that all the hard work and sacrifice means something beyond personal success. Representing Pakistan carries deep emotional weight for me. When I travel abroad and someone says, “You’re from Pakistan and you’re doing so well in dressage,” it fills me with pride. It feels powerful to know that Pakistan is being recognized beyond cricket or politics. If my journey helps broaden that narrative, even slightly, it means everything to me. For me, this is not just ambition, it is national pride and responsibility.

•  Do global stages such as the Olympics or major international championships feature in your long-term vision, or are you charting a different definition of success?

Yes, they absolutely do. I have officially submitted my entry, and in doing so, I am making history for Pakistan. In the 78 years since independence, I am the first to send a dressage entry to the Asian Games Aichi–Nagoya 2026. That milestone carries immense meaning for me personally and nationally. Competing at major events like the Asian Games and one day the Olympics has always been my vision, and I am also setting my sights on Los Angeles 2028. But my goals extend beyond competition. In the future, I hope to build something lasting in Pakistan, perhaps a school or a system that trains riders with proper discipline and international standards. For me, success is about legacy as much as medals.

• Looking ahead ten years from now, how do you envision Pakistan’s footprint in international equestrian sport — and what role do you hope to play in shaping it?

I believe I have already started paving the way, and I hope many young Pakistani girls will follow in the years to come. When one door opens, it becomes easier for others to walk through it with confidence. Over the next decade, I believe Pakistan can develop a meaningful presence in the international equestrian world. My dream is to see FEI-level dressage, show jumping, and endurance grow properly in Pakistan, with true international standards. I want Pakistan to become a fully active and competitive FEI-participating nation, producing riders for global events. When our flag stands confidently on the world stage in equestrian sport, it will be one of the proudest moments of my life.

The post Carving Space in Equestrian Sport – Aaleen Bukhari appeared first on Glam Magazine.

In a candid conversation with Rahat Zahid, we explored the heart of a home that has been lovingly shaped over many years. Every room carries a memory, every corner holds a story, and every decision reflects the couple’s journey of building a space that feels truly and deeply theirs. From thoughtful renovations to cherished furniture pieces collected over time, this interview offers an intimate glimpse into a home created with love, intuition, and a deep appreciation for natural beauty.

What are the most precious memories that you hold closest to your heart?

As the saying goes, every child is precious, and for me, every corner of this home feels the same. We’ve built this house with so much love that no particular space feels more important than another. Our main family room upstairs is where we spend most of our time, so it naturally feels comforting, but truly, I can’t single out a favourite spot. Every part of this home carries a sense of peace and familiarity because we’ve worked so hard to create it.

If you ever had the opportunity to move to a different or better home, would you take it? Or is this space irreplaceable to you?

It is absolutely irreplaceable. Even compared to our home in America, this is the one I call home. We’ve watched it evolve over the years, just as our children have grown within its walls. They were married here; we’ve celebrated countless milestones. When we first bought it, we couldn’t afford much because the house was enormous. We renovated slowly, sometimes painfully slowly, bit by bit. I still remember living without a dining table for six months because the chairs we loved were out of budget. We waited nearly a year to buy them, without ever compromising on what we truly liked. Those small struggles, the decisions we made with patience and intention, and the way we hosted guests despite not having much—every memory is woven into this house. That’s why it can’t be replaced.

When you bought this house, did you have a fixed idea of what you wanted to do, or did you follow your intuition as you went along?

We did have a few priorities, mainly the kitchen, flooring, and bathrooms. We decided to set those first. After moving in, everything else happened gradually. Sometimes, while living in a space, you suddenly realise what needs to be changed or improved. So, we would tweak things over time—a door here, a wall there—always based on what we could afford. It was a very slow, very organic process, and I think that’s what made it meaningful.

Maintaining such a large and beautifully kept home is no small task. How do you manage it so effortlessly?

It’s definitely not effortless, far from it. I’ve created a system where I focus on one area at a time. For example, when the children visit, we’ll concentrate on one room a day: first the upstairs living room, then another room, then the downstairs, then the outdoor spaces. But like every household, things break, people hide the evidence, and I only discover it when I’m setting things later! I always tell everyone: just be honest, don’t hide it, because it’s easier to fix something immediately.

People often say you’re blessed with a green thumb. Would you say you’re one of those who have a green thumb?

Not at all, I wouldn’t claim that! My husband is the one with the real gardening instinct. I simply guide him on the overall look. We’ve always preferred natural beauty rather than overly shaped plants. A tree should look like a tree, with its natural form and growth. We love greenery more than anything overly decorative. Seasonal flowers are lovely, but we value permanent plants and natural growth. My husband is into perfumery, so he loves fragrant plants like raat ki rani and motiya, you can smell them as soon as you enter. We sit in the garden depending on the weather. On pleasant days, especially weekends, we spend a lot of time outdoors, watching the children play or simply enjoying the fresh air.

Is there any area that you feel is your biggest comfort zone or sanctuary?

My sanctuary is the back patio. It’s peaceful, quiet, and feels wonderfully removed from the noise of the house. The upstairs living area is another comforting space, our true family hub. When my daughters visit, they refuse to come downstairs; we eat, sit, relax, and practically live upstairs for days. It feels like our true family sanctuary.

Homes often carry stories. Is there a piece of furniture, artwork, or décor element in your house with a memory or mystery you cherish?

So many pieces carry stories. Most of our furniture wasn’t bought from high-end places; we collected it gradually, often discovering pieces unexpectedly and then refurbishing them. Each item reminds us of where we found it, what moment in life we were in, and what vision we had for it. I also love printing and framing photographs rather than keeping them hidden in a phone. When you walk around the house, you’ll see memories everywhere, our lives literally on the walls.

With your demanding roles as a designer and educator, does your home ever become your creative lab, somewhere ideas spark unexpectedly?

Absolutely. Creativity comes to me very instinctively. Whether I’m designing clothes or rearranging furniture, ideas often evolve while I’m working, rather than beforehand. Many times, a room ends up looking entirely different from what I originally imagined. Since I’m not formally trained in interiors, we’ve made our fair share of mistakes, but the process has always been experimental and enjoyable. My husband visualises things instantly, while I need to see them physically—so we balance each other out.

What advice would you give someone who wants to create a home that feels both beautiful and deeply personal?

Take your time. Don’t rush to fill your home all at once. Build it slowly and thoughtfully, even if you can’t afford professional help. A home should reflect you, not an interior designer. Collect pieces gradually, place them carefully, and live with them before adding more. Everything in your home should evoke a memory or feeling. Money can buy objects, but not the emotion attached to them. Ultimately, a home becomes beautiful through the love, patience, and personal meaning you weave into it—one piece, one memory at a time.

The post Ingrained With the Creativity of The Owners appeared first on Glam Magazine.