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STORY OF MY FATHER

STORY OF MY FATHER

My Father. I had bid farewell to a multi-coloured Watanigour willow walkermade in Islamabad. I don’t know if a rouht phitrawan (bread breaking) ceremony was arranged on my first step without a walker, as was the tradition. I had inherited the walker from my elder brother Mohammad Yousf, and it was passed on to my younger sibling Ghulam Hassan. Along with a walnut wood crib, a mace with quartz head, an old lantern, an old gramophone record … Read entire article »

My Days in Bombay- Looking for spiritual solace in film nagari

My Days in Bombay- Looking for spiritual solace in film nagari

Haji Malang My Days in Bombay – A spiritual Journey My Days in Bombay- Spiritual Journey of Downtown Boy Looking For Inner Solace in Film Nagari Off To Haji Malang ZGM Many spiritual experiences can’t be captured in words.  Offering late-night prayers during sultry days on an islet with the soothing breeze blowing on all sides from the Arabian Sea had a unique spiritual elation. Perhaps, it was as good an experience as that of whirling … Read entire article »

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My Memoir: My Father Fond Memories of My Pets Jackie and Tommy

My Memoir: My Father Fond Memories of My Pets Jackie and Tommy

Part VII My Memoir: My Father Death of Tommy- My Pomeranian Dog Z G . Muhammad Z.G. Muhammad Numaish had become our dream world, and with father’s juniors holding the fort, we felt no less than princes during our visits. The grand illuminations, the music at the bandstand filling the exhibition ground with lilting tunes and the well of the death with a motorcyclist playing stunts inside wooden well had its thrill for my elder sibling and … Read entire article »

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Of Supplications, Collective Prayers and Rains.

Of Supplications, Collective Prayers and Rains.

ZGM Zahid G Muhammad  It sounded like folk tales, folklores of yore – whenever we heard stories about great famines that had often visited our birth burg in the past. Despite being a tale of the past fear of starvation, flood and epidemics continued to haunt our grandparents. It tormented them more ferociously than the looting sprees of desperadoes from distant … Read entire article »

My Memoir: My Father Part VI. Story of Two Alis- Ordinary Kashmiris

My Memoir: My Father Part VI. Story of Two Alis- Ordinary Kashmiris

Part  VI Part Six ‘The father did not join political discussions in the Radio Room with the news loving neighbours. Perhaps the reason was fear of snoopers and gumboots reporting it to those in the saddle and fear of earning their wrath.’ Nevertheless, when I wrote it at the start of this memoir, it was not suggested that he was snobbish, uninformed, … Read entire article »

My Memoir: Story of A Generation

My Memoir: Story of A Generation

My Memoir: My Father My Father Part V Z. G. Muhammad Literally, the evenings during the Jashin-I-Kashmir presented a lively scene as kaweyenewol, which thrilled children and made them jump, knock and cry slogans against a cruel Governor of the yore.[1] Like crows to their destination, people, poor and hardy, wealthy and elite, flocked to floodlit Shalimar garden as the sun, after sparkling … Read entire article »

My Memoir and MY Father. Of Jashan-i-Kashmir Days by ZGM

My Memoir and MY Father. Of Jashan-i-Kashmir Days by ZGM

My Memoir: My Story My Father Part IV Mothers are a massive influence on children; it may sound a cliché, a trite, but it is as good truth as the sun rises in the east. ‘They are the bones of the spine, as someone has said that keeps children straight and true. The way my father was, his disposition and demeanour did tell … Read entire article »

STORY OF MY FATHER

STORY OF MY FATHER

My Father. I had bid farewell to a multi-coloured Watanigour willow walkermade in Islamabad. I don’t know if a rouht phitrawan (bread breaking) ceremony was arranged on my first step without a walker, as was the tradition. I had inherited the walker from my elder brother Mohammad Yousf, and it was passed on to my younger sibling Ghulam Hassan. Along with a … Read entire article »

Torrents of Terrors- An Unusual Obituary

FROM MY ARCHIVES Torrents of Tears. Monday 6.10 AM: Stealthily stealing their way through peaks of Zabarwan hillock, virgin sunrays as usual out of their profound adoration, had just kissed the golden spires of the minarets of the Shrine of Dastageer Sahib that something ‘beyond language’ had happened. Something one could not have imagined even in ‘creepy, bloodcurdling dreams’ had befallen- raging flames had engulfed my ‘spiritual abode’- the home of my ‘inner self’ since boyish days. The moment my son broke this news to me, as the poet says, my ‘world in stupor lied’.   Shocked– crashed to the core, I felt my whole being was up in flames, and I was being consumed bit by bit. I felt … Read entire article »