The lost letter: the pashmina of my fall

Dear Sun, Today was a good day. As good as it gets. I’m grateful to God for the breeze that played with my hair, grateful for the weight that seemed to have bee

Jammu massacre: an eyewitness recalls

Bloodbath are not alien to Kashmir’s perturbed past- they are an inseparable part of it. One such scene of carnage of innocents was witnessed– in the

Memories of the Hajj, From Mother to Son

This week my 41-year-old son will make the pilgrimage to Mecca to perform the Hajj—the once-in-a-lifetime requirement for all Muslims who can afford the journey

Dreams– a poem on Kashmir

Memories of horrors from waking hours weighing down on the stricken chest as Fuseli’s incubus Visions of dreadful epochs shouldered with broken bodies, grasped

The whorls of that ‘flower’

O ye the mortal souls, I want to unfurl those whorls, The whorls of that flower, The whorls of that bower, That once blossomed! That once flourished! A paradise o

Kashmir: a curfew within

I plugged my ears with cotton and went to sleep after hearing the last newscast. It didn’t report I was dead. That means I am still alive. __(Mahmoud Darwis

A harsh winter night in Kashmir!

The day doesn’t entertain one much in Kashmir anyway and the nights shouldn't be a surprise either. It only turns gloomier as the day breaks. Winters are harsh;

I witness from New Delhi

I keep counting the dead from New Delhi at mid-night, Shahid “Don’t tell my father I have died,” he says, and I follow him through blood on the road and hun