Whispering Loud!

                “O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;                 It is the green-ey’d monster, which doth mock                 The meat it feeds on; ……………… Oh, misery!”                                                                                     Othello: Act 3, Scene 3. The hardest task for a human being in today’s world is; to make someone smile. To appreciate the...

Voath a’abisharunn seathh nazov, Voath nav-baharunn munz gindov Wulrikis khumaarus naal walov,  Voath a’afitabik peathh prazlov. Yel’li kor’rii kitabunn lole baran,  yathh ma’aji kasheerey roye napaan Scinus ki nooruk ga’h traavov,  Voath a’afitabik peath prazlov. Voath a’abisharunn……………………. Voath nav-baharunn………………….. Yel’li kor’rii kitabunn lole baran, Khuyheemis * nov nov zeuv aczan Aadibuk zewar poasha’ak walov,  Voath a’afitabik peath prazlov. Voath a’abisharunn……………………. Voath nav-baharunn…………………… Yel’li kor’rii kitabun lole baran, Makhdoom Hamzah nazrah karan Pe’erii waarey aalimuk saaz vanov,  Voath a’afitabik peath prazlov. Voath a’abisharunn……………………. Voath nav-baharunn……………………. Yel’li kor’ri kitabun lole baran, yem’mi maktabbi tarak keeat gaha’an Bandipor-uk zchoong vizi-vunn thaavov,  Voath a’afitabik peath prazlov. Voath a’abisharunn ……………………. Voath nav-baharunn…………………… Voath a’abis...

Life is a rainbow, why wear it dull! Not gloomy grey, nor dark and glum. Splash some red, add a dash of blue Kiss some peach, drape a violet hue. Hail life! I bear it bright Pink chiffon and crimson delight! A rose a day, turquoise another I'm a green of olives, a scent of lavender. Black and white? Now and then. With a print of sapphire, jasper within. I'm a spirit of all tones and touches, My heart taps in the velvet blushes. A bare soul, a brush of gold decorates Strip a shade, an aching plumage remains. Beauty is whole, half has no charm Flawed exists, thrive in absolute form. I am when I am all my colours I will only be if I save them all. Hold me, if you must, with my shades For, if I drop one, I will not be!

The Book of Gold Leaves by Mirza Waheed is a quintessential Kashmiri love story and the romance between Faiz and Roohi is poignant as well as uplifting. In the backdrop of their love affair, the centuries old archetypal culture of Kashmir gleams on every page of the book and the unpleasant, cruel blemishes of the conflict appear as never-ending eclipse, line after line. The abundance of culture brings a smile on the reader's face and the stains of cruelty fill his heart with endless ache.         Culture, so rich that even the conflict of almost two decades could not rob it of its sheen.         Conflict, so painful that it will remain engraved in the crevices of our bruised culture, forever. The book is however, a pure delight for a non-Kashmiri reader, because the beauty of reading fiction lies in imagination. The reader, while reading about an unfamiliar place, culture and the experiences he has never h...

Fathers are very important. They form us. A Father has an unflinching aura and under the patronage of this beaming light, springs a child’s life. He instils in his child the skill of taking the first footsteps and also lays down a concrete path of victory and triumph for his grown-up. If life is an expedition, fathers, without doubt, are the finest coordinators. A father does not only design his child’s life but, in the process becomes the warmest confidant of his baby, who knows when to constrict and thus contour better. Sadly, the loads of today’s world are weighty and at times, we tend to break. We break and fall! A father has a firm faith in his child and therefore, only a father can hold the fragments of his broken baby together and reform him. Fathers form us and reform us too, if we fall. Thank God for dads! A father is a daughter’s first love and it is not just a cliché. It is the truth that every girl holds close to her bosom. He is the only man who understan...

When you point the finger at an inefficient teacher, do not forget to give thumbs-up to the talented lot With its tattered fabric and a hollow foothold, the system of education of the state, predominantly that of the Valley stands naked today. Every day is a day of a new exposé and subsequently a day of desperate want to reform the system. One can picture sludge drenching the structure of the education system in its filth and quite often, being a part of such an organisation feels like a lot of shame and disgust. However, I have had days of pride and honour as a teacher and therefore, have a strong belief that positioning the blame exclusively on the shoulders of the community of teachers, unabridged and uncut, is not at all fair. It is discriminatory ,disheartening and of course discouraging. No doubt, the muck is viscous but, staging an act at the cost of the honour of the educators alone, is not going to settle anything. There is much more to this than meets the eye! I have ...

Like Shahid*, I would die in the opulence of autumn, but, cold dispirits me Pray! Lying under the sheets of freshly tilled soil, I wish not to look blue. Come Spring and my heart is a slave, a devotee, charmed by its visage Holding on to my musings, in its sorcerous arms, I desire to breathe my last. In autumn, a numb feeble leaf of Chinar is all that adorns a grave I have a thing for florets and wish to have three white lilies on mine. Virgin dew will be my potion and in consort with the breeze shall I sway On a moonlit spring night, I will pen a poem or may be yearn for my tribe. Spring it is, my Lord! Shrouded in its colours, I’ll come to greet Bright and dead, I will witness Your Splendour and embrace eternity!  Mercy! If you pass by, picture my tomb not as a dwelling of dead In spring not anything dies, below the greens a pink blossom will I be. In spring, the withered bloom and the colourless salve their hues So, in my death I wi...

My niece,  Jaz'rah Jahangir Makhdoomi was born on December 5, 2014 at 7:33 in the evening. She was brought out of the operation theatre around 8:00 pm and her cradle looked tiny in front of the oxygen cylinder supporting her respiration. Jaz'rah, at the time of her birth was sick. However , when I first looked at her, I saw a twinkle in her eyes that promised life. Her eyes were gleaming and the sparkle was that of a fighter, the sparkle that spoke of survival. I knew she'll fight and she'll live. Jaz'rah, less of a princess and more of a warrior , gave us the hope that she'll make it to our arms. Half an hour after her birth, she was shifted from Modern Hospital to G.B.Pant Children's Hospital and she remained on the life-support for one week in the NICU and for the other week she recupirated in Ward nos 8 and 9. She fought for her life for 15 days; too long a period for a newborn. I would visit her everyday and the twinkle in her eyes never disappointed ...