Professor Rashid Scandal Gomal University D I Khan Here
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.
Professor Rashid is a family man. His evenings, after the Asr prayer, are often spent in the company of his grandchildren. Here, entertainment is simple: a board game of Ludo , a storytelling session from the Puran Bhagat folktales of the region, or simply watching a cricket match on a modest LED television. Pakistan Super League (PSL) season is a genuine event; he and his sons will crowd around the screen, analyzing a Shaheen Afridi yorker with the same intensity they would a scholarly footnote. On rare weekends, he takes his family to the Gomal Zam Dam, a short drive away. The still blue water against the brown mountains provides a serene picnic spot—a place for quiet reflection and a flask of qehwa .
In the rugged terrain of Dera Ismail Khan, where the ancient Suleman Mountains kiss the sky and the Indus River carves its persistent path, life moves at a rhythm distinct from the metropolitan hum of Karachi or the frantic pace of Lahore. To be an academic at Gomal University—the region’s premier institution, born from the optimism of the 1970s—is to embrace a vocation that is as much about social stewardship as it is about intellectual pursuit. Professor Rashid, a senior figure in the faculty, embodies this unique synthesis. His lifestyle and entertainment are not defined by extravagance or urban recreation but by a deliberate, measured cadence of discipline, community integration, and intellectual nourishment.
By 8:00 AM, dressed in a clean, pressed shalwar kameez —usually in sober tones of off-white or light blue, paired with a well-worn blazer for winter months—he departs for the university. The commute is short, a ten-minute drive through the quiet streets of the university town. Unlike his counterparts in large cities, Professor Rashid does not battle traffic; he battles the dust and the occasional herd of goats crossing the road. His car, a reliable if aging Toyota Corolla, is less a status symbol than a practical necessity. professor rashid scandal gomal university d i khan
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 .
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. To paint this picture honestly, one must note
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.
Lunch is a ritual. He avoids the faculty canteen’s fried fare. Instead, he brings a tiffin prepared by his wife: a simple portion of roti , a sabzi like karela or bhindi , and perhaps a slice of mango in season. He often shares this with younger, unmarried faculty members, offering not just food but mentorship. These lunchtime discussions, held under the shade of a beri tree, range from departmental politics to the quality of the latest Pakistani drama serial (a guilty pleasure he rarely admits to) to the geopolitical implications of the Afghan border situation.
Professor Rashid of Gomal University is not a celebrity academic nor a lifestyle influencer. He is a pillar of his community, living a life of quiet dignity in a corner of Pakistan that the mainstream often overlooks. His entertainment is found in the rustle of a book page, the spirited debate over tea, the laughter of a grandchild, and the respectful nod of a former student who has become a civil servant. His lifestyle is a testament to the idea that a rich life does not require a rich environment—it requires a rich mind and a rooted heart. In the measured cadence of his days, from the Fajr prayer to the evening mujlis , Professor Rashid has found not just a routine, but a philosophy. And that, perhaps, is the most profound entertainment of all. The nearest city with a proper bookstore is
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.
The concept of "entertainment" for Professor Rashid is far removed from multiplex cinemas, nightclubs, or even modern shopping malls—all absent from D.I. Khan. Instead, his leisure activities fall into three distinct spheres: intellectual, domestic, and community-based.
