“Hun Lahore ae!” he would shout, informing the driver that everything was at peace, the wagon was full.
Aapa Basheeran, one of the four women guardians of a mohallah in Lahore called Aahata Bakhshi Ram, and my grandfather…
My mother used to make these; I do this when I miss her.
Going for the whole day to sit at a desk and coming back after dark, it’s not really very fulfilling. It seemed fascinating when we graduated but it doesn’t anymore.
“Wait, what am I asking, you don’t plan your trips, you just leave, just like that,” she said.
My father and I were talking about his recent trip to Indian Punjab when I asked him if he spoke to the people there in Punjabi.
‘Was there a tree in the house?’ she asked. ‘Yes, there in fact was one. And it used to cry.’ She looked at me as if I was indulging in poetry.
I had seen this book when I was a kid. In my father’s library perhaps. But when I actually got interested in the folklore about 8 years ago, there was no sign of this book anywhere. I asked around but everyone said that the book, printed more about 3 decades ago, was not going to be found but at old book shops. They were occasionally visited. But in vain. So where was this picture taken, then? It’s a long story.
I resign from my job, someone breaks into my apartment, and I get a break on a freelance project I had been trying to complete. All in one day. You know what that means?
I keep hearing — from men, of course — that ‘Punjabi women are more religious and more superstitious.’
“Where do you study?” The guy sitting next to me in the bus asked when we got back to our seats after the loo and tea break.
I got myself three souvenirs from Philippines: a model Jeepney, a traditional earthen jar, and a dream-catcher.
A wedding is coming up. No not mine, silly. That would be foolish considering how great it has turned out for others in my family.
Today, I found myself changing the display setting in my smartphone from ‘standard’ to ‘zoomed.’