By ZGM He is gone. My other half, my younger brother Hassan, vanished like a white dandelion carried away without a whisper of breeze. He left so suddenly that he forgot even to leave a parting note—no recollections of our shared childhood, no word of forgiveness for the terracotta toys I broke, the kites I tore, the paper boats I drowned, or the candyfloss I snatched from his hand. When he was four, he swallowed a copper paisa with a hole in its middle and George IV’s crown embossed upon it. Tears rolled down my cheeks like monsoon rain. My grandmother and I rushed to the Astana of Naqshband Sahib, where I raised my small hands in supplication for his safe return. His recovery deepened my faith in the shrine. From then … Read entire article »