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Prison Tales IV: Jails The Cauldron of Ideologies

Nostalgia By ZGM On a shelf in my small study, I have a beautiful book printed on glossy paper ‘Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam’, translated from Persian into our mother tongue by Ghulam Nabi Khayal.    It was my second introduction to Khayyam, after having read translation of Rubaiyat by Edward FitzGerald as a student of literature and parroted verses like:   “Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life’s Liquor in its Cup be dry.” Many a critic of Kashmiri literature considers Khayal’s translation of   Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam as one of the best in our native language. Long before, as a young student passing my leisure time inside a bookshop in our Mohalla, owned by one of the then famed calligraphist Mahajan Sahib, I had seen the first edition of the translation and heard the story that poet had rendered 15o quatrains from … Read entire article »

Filed under: Kashmir-Talk

Dissent and Democracy: Banning The Jama’at-e-Isamia

Dissent and Democracy: Banning The Jama’at-e-Isamia

Punchline Dissent and Democracy : Banning The Jama’at-e-Islamia Jammu and Kashmir By Z. G. Muhammad For four million people living in   an area of 85,805.8 square miles in the bosom of mighty Himalayas, Saturday ‘12 March 1932’ was a momentous day.  On this day after years of struggle and sacrifices,   ‘Maharaja Hari Singh, the autocratic ruler of Kashmir  on the recommendations of the Glancy Commission Report announced the grant of the rights to freedom of press and platform to the people of the State.’ … Read entire article »

Filed under: Kashmir-Talk

Nostalgia : Prison Tales III

Nostalgia : Prison Tales III

Nostalgia Prison Stories III In A Different School ZGM In the din of war cries, with eyes glued to the television screen couple of lines from the book ‘Prison Writings: My Life Is My Sundance’ started echoing in my ears:  “I don’t know how to save the world. I don’t have the answers or The Answer. I hold no secret knowledge as to how to fix the mistakes of generations past and present. I only know that without compassion and respect for … Read entire article »

Filed under: Kashmir-Talk

War Cannot Dissolve or Resolve Kashmir

War Cannot Dissolve or Resolve Kashmir

PUNCHLINE War Cannot Dissolve The Kashmir Dispute Z .G. Muhammad Saturday morning, I woke up to many a disturbing news on the grapevine. From the Masjid door to  long waiting  at the bakers’ shop for hot loaves of traditional bread,   lots of news about frightening rattling of aeroplanes and helicopters  from 2 A.M in Srinagar, deployment of hundreds of additional companies’ of paramilitary troops in Kashmir to the mid-night  crackdown on the cadres of the Jamat-e-Islamia and other organization was making … Read entire article »

Filed under: Kashmir-Talk

Prison Tales: Watching Them From Hillock

Prison Tales: Watching Them From Hillock

Some old black and white photographs are evocative as scent, years after having been clicked they fill the air with fresh fragrance and bring a blush even on cheeks crumpled as withered leaves. Of late, posting pictures of Kashmir clicked long ago by European travellers and photojournalists on social media and microblogs is a new hobby that is catching up with some friends as an expression of their love for the land. Many of … Read entire article »

Filed under: Kashmir-Talk

Suicide Attack: War Is No Option Dialogue Is Way Forward

Suicide Attack: War Is No Option Dialogue Is Way Forward

PUNCHLINE Let Us Talk Peace  Z. G. Muhammad   There is war talk all around. The war cries that have been an intrinsic feature of some television studios for about the past five years have become shriller during the past couple of days. Calling for a full-fledged war including the use of nuclear weapons is expected of some television anchors, hatemongers and shouting brigades know for screaming, screeching and yelling from the safe harbours of television … Read entire article »

Filed under: Editor's Take

Obituary On My Childhood —

  Nostalgia   Obituary on My Childhood ZGM He is gone. My other half of me, my younger sibling Hassan, like white and puffy dandelion disappeared in the thin of air without a whispering breeze blowing across. He left so fast and forgot even to jot down a parting note- some reminiscences of the whole childhood and boyhood we had lived together- if he had forgiven me for breaking his terracotta toys, ripping his kites, drowning his paper boat in the rainwater and snatching candyfloss from his hand. At the age of four when he swallowed a coin, copper paisa with a hole in its middle and crown of George IV embossed on it with tears trickling down my eyes like monsoon showers with my grandmother; I had gone to the Astana of Naqshband … Read entire article »

Filed under: Editor's Take