Fiction

“How I Was Chased And Then Killed With Pellets” – Story of Nasir Shafi

Watch Video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UgNGG_PwxRU My name is Nasir Shafi; my mother calls me Moomin; I am 11 years old. One evening, I was leaving our local masjid towards my home when I saw hundreds of men in uniform charging towards us; there was utter chaos. I...

Diary Of A Pellet Victim Who Lost Her Vision

Cricket’s making their usual sounds, squirrels finding ways to escape, the sun below the line of shining. It is again so beautiful to remind humans that they are the blessed one. Supermans, as everybody stares at the hole without blinking. The six gaps from...

The Confidant

It was the first night of Chilaikalan, she ventured out all by herself. In the stillness, a calm descended on her and she realized that this was her moment. It was at this unearthly hour, she could be her best. Treading across the...

Blue Collar

In 124 days, I worked for just 17. Rest of 107 days were black for me, because I am a blue-collar worker. A day without work means no pay. I will not die, but half empty stomach can turn one into an insomniac. Blue-collar workers...

A Mouthful Of Silence

I am ritually impure. Before Fajr breaks in I should ablute. It's Friday, that makes it doubly rewarding. Or punishing? I don't know. I've spent this night reading a pick from my priced collection of books on literature and Kashmir. Somebody is already up downstairs....

The Identity Card

Recently I slipped out of my owners pocket (pocket near the heart). I slipped unnoticed. He didn’t know I had jumped out of my cage only to peep what is going on? A lot of noise of carpet beatings in the air, silence in...

The Wedding Dress

In the wee hours of the morning, the bride to be sat near the foot of her bed, facing the west, the direction of Qiblah. It had been a long night. Her father had returned from the hospital just an hour before Fajr prayers....

Agony Inside – A Story From Kashmir

It was a blissful morning. The frosty air was blowing, unleashing the magical music of vibrating leaves. The hem of the Sun was accruing from the mountains painting the atmosphere with gold. Seeing this tranquil atmosphere my soul was craving for a...

I Was Four Month’s Pregnant When They Killed Him

Colourful Colourless Mornings What is the colour of mornings? All hues in a passing. Red like his blood-drenched clothes. Pale like his lifeless face. Black like the smoke of people gathering around. Wailing. Shouting. Raging. Green like the flag raised on his adeau. Oh, it burns...

Afzal Zinda Hai

Afzal Guru
I was stealing glances on my wristwatch. Outside my friends were waiting. They were out with Kites and spools. I could figure out signals made in many codes by my friend’s; urging me to emerge. But my father was staying at home...

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