My Reflections

Majid was in deep emotional distress when he returned from engineering department. He bunked classes and reached hostel early with sullen face, disheveled hair and tearful eyes. Belal his room partner was leaving for classes when Majid entered the room. Worried, Belal enquired about his health. Majid pretended that nothing was wrong with him. Belal Bhat, his room partner for the last four years was from Anantnag, Kashmir. Belal did not go home since he joined university due to the disturbances back in Kashmir. His parents preferred safety over their desire to see his beloved son. Belal’s elder brother Maqbool Bhat was Phd scholar researching on influence of sufi-ism in Kashmir at the same university. He too appeared to have made the university a temporary refugee camp. Belal and his Kashmiri visitors spoke Koshur, the language primarily spoken in Kashmir. Majid found the hissing sound of the language irritating so he would leave the room whenever Belal had some visitors.   ...

Struggle of a dark horse Umar was practising mathematics sitting on rug of gunny sack in cnadle light outside his hut made up of hay. It was middle of April but heat wave had started blowing early.  Bugs were whirling around the candle falling on mathematics book and Umar’s notebook. But he was totally engrossed in his study unperturbed by mosquito bites without noticing the bugs and cries of siblings inside the hut. The half yearly examination of ninth class was going on. He had his last paper tomorrow. Umar was stuck proving a theorem on cyclic quadrilateral. The mathematics teacher, his favorite Raj Kumar Babu had emphasized on this theorem and he expected a question on the theorem tomorrow. There was a gush of air which put out the candle. He again lighted it and tried to concentrate. The wind again blew off the candle.  He closed his book, wrapped his rug and moved inside the hut to study. There came storm followed by rain. There was a heavy downpour and his...

Master Samiuddin was a frail old man who read old urdu newspapers - sangam to beat the cruelty of old age boredom. These old newspapers were moth eaten and yellowish in color. The newspaper was as faded as Master’s skin due to old age. He passed forlorn and lonely day with occasional visit of some guests. Master Samiuddin would read the newspaper articles and recite his poems to the visiting guests. While speaking on his favorite topic, urdu language and its beauty, his eyes would shine as the burning wick of kerosene lamp shines in dark nights. It is said that guests frequented less to avoid this torture. Master Samiuddin was a retired primary school teacher who stressed upon diction of language more than language itself. Master would lament that young generation is no more learning Urdu language. The degeneration and apathy towards his beloved language saddened him gravely. His own son Farooq, spent two full years reading elementary Urdu book to gain perfection of pronunciat...