About

pictures 446

Born in Srinagar Kashmir in the post world war years, I found myself taken to  a new country Pakistan.The first ten years were happy and peaceful.

1965 saw the beginnings of a war across the borders.At a very young age I experienced blackouts, martyrs, war songs, defeat and compromise.In the school time years I read about world history, world war I and then I read The Diary of Anne Frank.This was an inspiration supreme for me as a teenager becoming aware of the dangers, the hardships, the loyalties, the patriotism and the love of land in times of conflict.

I have tried to record my memories and will continue to do so.I seek peace and peaceful travels. I look forward to sharing views about other people and other countries

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5 thoughts on “About

    ljbradburn said:
    25/05/2013 at 1:18 pm

    Hi, I love your blog so I have nominated you for an award. Please see here for the details: http://myfeatherquill.wordpress.com/2013/05/25/liebster-award/ 🙂

    ljbradburn said:
    25/05/2013 at 3:22 pm

    You are very welcome, it is very much deserved and i’m so glad to have made you feel that way. Thank you for your blog 🙂

    Cindy Eksuzian said:
    14/09/2014 at 6:58 pm

    Anjum, Salaam! Good morning. I am glad to see you changed your gravatar. Peace be with you. It is right to see the person behind the pen!

    kneal1 said:
    18/04/2015 at 10:26 pm

    lovely blog-wonderful writing …Many blessings to you..

    Christine Irving said:
    13/04/2017 at 6:08 pm

    So pleased you stopped by my site because it brought me to yours. Lovely place to visit. I enjoy it all – prose, poetry and art – serene and whimsical with an edge! It’s an odd, intriguing, pleasing combination.

    I had the great pleasure of visiting a Pakistani friend in Karachi several years ago. I’ve always wished I could return and see more of your country. Though downtown Karachi was bust and bustling, I have a lovely memory of a sleepy residential street lined with trees. The morning sun is filtering through the leaves and I can hear the clopping sound of horse hoofs and the call of a man selling fresh greens from the back of his wagon. From my bedroom window I watch women open their gates and gather round to choose what they need for the meals they’ll prepare that day.. They bargain and gossip and laugh. Not speaking Urdu allows me to enjoy the musicality of the language that floats on the air like birdsong, filtering up through dappled leaves to meet the sunlight on its way down.

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