Nostalgia

By Z.G.Muhammad Mothers are a massive influence on children; it may sound a cliché, a trite, but it is as...

Z.G.Muhammad I sometimes wonder if my father would sit under the tso: ng, a cotton wick lamp fuelled by mustard...

By Z.G.Muhammad The pair of partridges was no less than Aladdin’s treasure and orderly Amir Khan, a genie who could...

By Z.G.Muhammad I had bid farewell to a multi-coloured Watanigour willow walker made in Islamabad. I don’t know if a...

By Z.G.Muhammad I had almost entered into a nuptial tie with the Arabian Sea. In the late evenings, I felt...

By Z.G.Muhammad Stories of many of the ward four boys, like other downtown Srinagar boys, are strewn across the countries,...

By Z.G.Muhammad The city of seven islands for me was not just about the tinsel town with all its flashy...

By Z.G.Muhammad In the din of war cries, with eyes glued to the television screen couple of lines from the...

BY Z.G.MUHAMMAD Our study was eight feet by six feet small cubicle; it had three taakhs (windows), and glazed multi-coloured...

BY Z.G.MUHAMMAD Truly, the metropolis, those days for all its shades and colors, was more entrancing than a rainbow. Then,...