How a shy schoolboy became Islamabad's digital voice

The shape of childhood

Muzamil was born in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, but moved to Islamabad at around one year old and has lived there for 26 years. He identifies as “first generation Islamabad,” bred if not born in the city, and has watched it transform from what locals called a tiny place into a metropolitan hub. His childhood was a full house: six siblings, both parents, and his grandmother living with the family until she passed away in 2002 or 2004. He was her favorite.

The family was working class with strong Pakistani values. Rules existed, but Muzamil says, “I never felt suffocated per se. I think those were good rules and regulations that taught us a lot of things and sort of made us who we are today.” His three older brothers shaped him profoundly. As an 11-year-old, he was already participating in IT competitions because his brothers were computer science students and the family computer was a big deal.

Schooling: the search for belonging

Muzamil began at Overseas Pakistan Foundation school, then moved to Head Start for one year in eighth grade. The transition was jarring. “The culture, environment, everything was very progressive,” he recalls. “And I wasn’t that progressive at the time… I was just like, oh, haram, oh, haram, sab haram.” He left after a year and moved to Beacon House, where he spent five years completing O and A Levels.

O-Levels marked his first real taste of independence. “For the first time, I met people who I could truly connect with,” Muzamil says. The contrast with his earlier reserve was dramatic. By A-Levels, he had undergone a complete transformation. “A-Levels had a 360-degree shift from the shy cry baby to a very confident, very extroverted, very social person.”

The house empties

During A-Levels, Muzamil’s siblings began leaving Pakistan. His oldest brother left in 2006. By 2008, two more had gone abroad for work. His sister, whom he was closest to, left as well. The house went from seven to three. The absence took an emotional toll, but it came with unexpected gifts. With his parents and brothers abroad, Muzamil had the space and solitude to explore. He taught himself by watching television shows, reading newspaper headlines on business and economics, and learning from YouTube and Google. There were no structured courses. Just curiosity and the internet.

The gap year pivot

After A-Levels, peer pressure pushed Muzamil toward LUMS. He applied and got in. He also took the FAST entrance exam almost as an afterthought. When the result came back: FAST Karachi, not LUMS, not the prestigious campus in Lahore. Instead of adjusting, he ran. He took a three-month gap and moved to Karachi to attempt the university, but the experience was traumatic. An incident with stray dogs at night. The environment felt hostile and incomprehensible. “I had massive anxiety,” he recalls. “Breathing was running in my fourth capacity. I couldn’t connect with people.”

He came back to Islamabad and declared a formal gap year. Society didn’t understand. “That society was clear that you are a failure. Because you took a year off. That was a stigma.” The year was emotionally difficult, but instead of wasting it, he retreated into learning. His brother had given him a DSLR camera. He started teaching himself photography using YouTube, trial and error, and experimentation. “You learned from class 2?” Humna asks, referencing how young he had been reading newspapers. “That’s a regular feature,” he replies. Self-teaching was already his method.

The first viral moment

In 2011, Muzamil started a photography page on Facebook that grew to 5,000 to 6,000 followers in Islamabad. Small, but visible. He experimented with conceptual photography while others focused on events. After a year in America with his brothers, he returned to Pakistan inspired. He created a video: 22 Random Acts of Kindness, inspired by a blog post but localized to Pakistan. The video went up on September 13, 2012, and exploded.

YouTube featured it. Facebook, which had 66 million users at the time, shared it from their official page. Within a week, it went global. Guardian. MSNBC. Good Morning America. International news outlets picked up the story. “A career became international career,” Muzamil recalls. “I can reach out to the world and so many goras started following me.” When YouTube was later banned in Pakistan, the momentum stalled, but his reputation and Law Studios kept growing.

The World Bank years

A World Bank consultant had seen his random acts video and invited him to an event in Lahore to provide coverage. He delivered a film of the event. The World Bank responded by offering him work. At 22 years old, Muzamil became the organization’s youngest employee, traveling to Faisalabad, Multan, and Peshawar for water and sanitation programs, presenting to 20-grade officers who often stopped him mid-presentation to ask, “What’s your age?” and “How are you here?”

His success raised questions. Some assumed family connections had opened doors. But Muzamil’s father had built his career from nothing. Born in old Lahore without electricity at home, raised by a single mother, no network, no property. He went to government college in Lahore, became a banking career professional, moved to Saudi, worked relentlessly, and eventually retired as country head of operations. That hard work, not connections, had lifted the family. Muzamil’s three older brothers had built their own paths on scholarship and effort.

The mentor Muzamil seeks

Now 30, Muzamil feels the weight of looking back. He had good mentors in specific areas, but never one who could show direction across multiple dimensions. “I want to create maybe 10 more Muzamils in the next generation,” he says. “I want to show them some sort of a journey, some sort of a direction, whether they take it or not take it, that’s up to them. But at least they should have the opportunity of someone older than them telling them that these are my mistakes and these are opportunities.”

He still loves Pakistan and chooses to stay. “As long as I can, I’m not gonna sit here and make a claim I don’t go to the same time every person is. Life can sometimes give you lemons and what not, but I’ll fight it as much as I can.” That is the voice of the 30-year-old reflecting on the shy schoolboy he was, the bold creator he became, and the guide he now wants to be.