I was delighted when cooler weather arrived last November. I had been looking forward to carrying my cup of hot, sweet tea up to the roof to sit there and dream in the fresh cool breeze.
People born during years of British rule or the troubled year of the Partition of 1947, have suffered various kinds of trauma, lost land, family and friends, and have had three nationalities in the course of one lifetime.
My grandson, a delightful child aged five, is always full of smiles and good cheer. He trotted in from school one day, joyful as usual, and announced “I love everyone, including the people I don’t know!” “But there are so many people in the world,” I replied. “How will you find space in your heart for all of them?”
Some would call this new way of life a challenge, especially for the young. They want to go out and enjoy life, and this is an onerous burden to be borne.
There is nothing book lovers like better than to curl up in a comfortable corner somewhere and immerse themselves in the pages of whatever book takes their fancy, and drift away into a different world.
I see a flash of yellow, then a glimpse of parrot wings, sometimes even a baby parrot perched on a terrace railing, or crows arguing on a distant ledge. Butterflies flutter past, tiny messengers of births and marriages, there is much to enjoy in the constant activity of nature.
There is little to do these days. The virus has struck fear into the stoutest hearts, and most of us have changed our lifestyles to suit the times.
This is, or should be, the happiest season of the year — the time when we celebrate the holy month of Ramadan and the festival of Eid, except that we must keep in mind and pray for the casualties of the pandemic, and hardships of the poor, and the ongoing threat of the coronavirus.
I was delighted when cooler weather arrived last November. I had been looking forward to carrying my cup of hot, sweet tea up to the roof to sit there and dream in the fresh cool breeze.
People born during years of British rule or the troubled year of the Partition of 1947, have suffered various kinds of trauma, lost land, family and friends, and have had three nationalities in the course of one lifetime.
My grandson, a delightful child aged five, is always full of smiles and good cheer. He trotted in from school one day, joyful as usual, and announced “I love everyone, including the people I don’t know!” “But there are so many people in the world,” I replied. “How will you find space in your heart for all of them?”
Some would call this new way of life a challenge, especially for the young. They want to go out and enjoy life, and this is an onerous burden to be borne.
There is nothing book lovers like better than to curl up in a comfortable corner somewhere and immerse themselves in the pages of whatever book takes their fancy, and drift away into a different world.
I see a flash of yellow, then a glimpse of parrot wings, sometimes even a baby parrot perched on a terrace railing, or crows arguing on a distant ledge. Butterflies flutter past, tiny messengers of births and marriages, there is much to enjoy in the constant activity of nature.
There is little to do these days. The virus has struck fear into the stoutest hearts, and most of us have changed our lifestyles to suit the times.
This is, or should be, the happiest season of the year — the time when we celebrate the holy month of Ramadan and the festival of Eid, except that we must keep in mind and pray for the casualties of the pandemic, and hardships of the poor, and the ongoing threat of the coronavirus.
The universal dream of Paradise is a garden, nourished by crystal-clear waters. The garden of Jannat, with the waters of Salsabil and Tasneem; the Biblical garden of Eden, and the mythical Elysian fields are all havens of peace, with channels of flowing water,
When a new year begins, most of us try to sort through and organise all the detritus of earlier years, and start afresh with tidier cupboards, and neater desks. It can be an interesting task, because we come across things long forgotten, or thrown aside, to be looked at another time. Sometimes, we find really special things, long forgotten, but important.
