Peace Watch

My Mother Part III She had not been to a school. In the desert of illiteracy that had been the fate of the overwhelming majority, both men and women, particularly women, she had not been a lone traveller; she had a swarm of companions. Of course, in her generation, some exceptions were fortunate to have been admitted to a Christen Missionary School; one of them had been my mother-in-law. She would be nostalgic about the days when she, along with some other girls of her locality, embarked on a boat at Nawa Kadal Ghat for the school near Fateh Kadal, the third bridge on Jhelum- ferrying the girls to the school was arranged by the school free of any charge. She perhaps had done her matriculation. She taught in a school … Read entire article »

My Memoir: Story of An Ordinary Man My Mother Part II  You often smile when you look back at your childhood and giggle at your innocence. There is a lot of thrill in reminiscing about innocent acts and beliefs from childhood. Did we not believe, and believe with complete faith, that red beetles with black dots in lush green turf at Khanaqah Naqshbandi and Jamia Masjid were a Khuda-Sobin Batha-Phul—His staple food? Did we not eagerly wait for a feather of peacock kept inside a book to multiply after putting some sugar crystals in the book?  It’s never too late to enjoy a happy childhood. Anything connected with childhood is joy incarnate; it may be grandmother’s souvenirs in one of the Shahnisheen’s of Kani of our house, an old carved walnut box blackened … Read entire article »

My Mother Part- I My Mother My mother told me that I witnessed the Kashmir saga from the womb. She repeated it often, along with some bitter things connected with my birth. I did not understand what my mother wanted to convey. Perhaps, I was too young to understand the stories that ran parallel to when I had tumbled into this world with my shirt-button-sized bluish-brown eyes half shut on a chilly February Monday, precisely at seven mornings when the sky was ominously cast with dark clouds. The sun was still buried behind the Zabarwan hillock.    As I became older, I assumed it was a parable, fable, or myth that Mother was telling; after all, our entire tale is based on a well-known mythology – that survived as a religious belief with our … Read entire article »

My Memoir: My Uncle Part V By Z. G. Muhammad In our part of the city, the ambience, architecture and spirituality were blended into a ‘soul-repairing whole.’  The glistening golden minarets of mosques, hospices and mausoleums dominating the skyline in sync with the hymns emanating from them played a role in shaping the downtowners’ faith, beliefs and attitude towards life. Even the most robust and sturdy with herculean sinews were tender as tendrils at their heart. Even the toughs, roughs and rugged in the society melted like icicles in sunrays on seeing the suffering fellow folks. They outpaced the “elite” in rescuing people in distress and disastrous situations- fires, floods, earthquakes and road accidents. When the “elite” watched from a distance and expressed their regrets, they risked their lives, plunged into raging flames, … Read entire article »