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Safar- A journey

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donoñ jahān terī mohabbat meñ haar ke vo jā rahā hai koī shab-e-ġham guzār ke One fine evening, when the gym was closed, I went for a walk along the roadside near my rented accommodation in Thannamandi. The path runs along a mountain slope, with a stream flowing on one side and houses perched at higher altitudes, their inhabitants watching the water pass endlessly below them. One strange thing I noticed during these walks was the wind that travels with the stream. As you walk beside it, the cold breeze rushes straight at your face—making you believe the water is melted snow flowing down from the Pir Panjal glaciers. The past three months have been an immense struggle. I twisted my leg during a cricket match, and recovery has been slow and cautious. Exercise has helped, healing has begun, but I remain conscious of my knee—I know I cannot run freely yet. That evening, I sat on a riverside foundation. Lights from distant houses reflected softly on the water, and only a rare car passed b...
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ON THANNAMANDI

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  T hanamandi, in district Rajouri, is more than just a place—it’s where I’ve permeated a few more curtains of life, where hardship meets hope, and where growth and challenges coexist in the most unexpected ways. Located in the Rajouri district of Jammu and Kashmir, Thannamandi is a vibrant, close-knit community deeply ingrained in the region's cultural and spiritual fabric. Here, every house, every individual’s story, and every struggle are known to all, creating a unique sense of belonging amid challenges. It is a place that may seem abundant at first glance but is deeply woven into the cultural Muslim fabric. I have made friends all along the Pir Panjal range across all cultures and religions, in colleges, with shopkeepers, and with gym-goers. I discovered my own self with these people and associated myself with their culture and eating habits. I travelled with them, laughed at their humour, entertained them with gossip, and had late-night chats and...
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A Confluence of Our Minds!

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Na hareef-e-jaan (Rival of life), na shareek-e-gham (companion of sorrow), Shab-e-intezar koi to ho. Kis se bazm-e-shauq mein laye hum, Dil-e-bekarar koi to ho. FARAAZ  Writing for and about you is a crystal feeling of mingling droplets into the ocean. I desire to meet you at a place where all the water, places, and philosophies meet. I dream of connecting with you at a place where the sun kisses the horizon. I wish to surrender to you, where a brook leaves a mountain! I wish to wander with you, where the water bursts a rock and cascades down the hill. I dream of a reunion where pine meets the sky, or at a place where a fleeting glimpse of a traveler catches a running deer. The meeting of souls in these locales may be real or imagined, yet in my vivid imagination, every image is distinct, and every scene is bright. I observe every star that twinkles and the moon pinned in the sky. I recall the leaves' melody and the branches' ballet, the earth inhaling the heartfelt scents of...
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Beyond Oblivion: Seeking Redemption in the Human Condition”

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                                                                             Nazar Ul Islam Wani As day gives way to night, a vast blanket of darkness envelops all creation, sprinkling my intellect with scattered gloom. Darkness transcends the mere absence of light; it represents a metaphorical obscurity that silences our metaphysical inquiries. It signifies a weariness of questioning and a resignation to fate. For example, when we abandon the notion of change, perceive our lives as void, and resign ourselves to a life defined by randomness. Thus, embracing and venerating the colossal concept of oblivion which is a characteristic of non-humans, yet humans too can vanish into absurdity indefinitely.   From dusk till dawn, we ponder over life's many mysteries, unraveling some and contemplat...
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ENCOUNTERING SOUL- FROM THANALA TO THANAMANDI

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Nazar Ul Islam                                From Thanala to Thanamandi, from Bhaderwah to Rajouri, and from Chenab valley to Pir Panjal Valley I have encountered numerous people, places, witnessed events, and accounts of life, and saw changing weather, drove through mountain passes and left serene scenes behind. I witnessed clouds and birds floating and flying in Thanala in a linear motion and with sequence and symphony. The last resort from Bhaderwah to chamba is Thanala; we used to call Thanala- End of the world.   During the winters, Padri Pass gets blocked by snowfall, so does the way to Himachal.   Padri Pass connects Himachal with Bhaderwah, PKG (Peer Ki Gali) pass connects Kashmir with Rajouri and Poonch. Simthan top connects Kashmir with Kishtiward, and so does Banihal Pass connect Kashmir with Banihal and leads the way to Jammu.   I was lucky to see and understand this geography b...
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Sun Sets with life!

​The Sun sets in Kashmir either over the mountain shoulders or into the Dal Lake making the horizon red. A fascination for the travellers on land and water. I have not witnessed the sunset in air but if I do I will pull the latch to shield the sunset. I love to travel light without memories . But as they say sunsets are a proof that endings are beautiful too.  In my childhood sunset was perceived through conflict and it was said that the redness in the sky is the blood shed during the day. It did make some sense in an atmosphere where killings were rampant. The sunsets in this context were ferocious for me. It never carried a hope of a new dawn. The symptoms and symbols were fed in folklores and myths. The kashmir has its unique way of creating meanings. It believed in the legend of Nilmatpuran that Sharika Devi put in her beak the Hariparbat fort and buried Jalodbava, an underwater demon in it. His soul still lurks in that mountain and this is why kashmir never was at peace. ...
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MY NAME IS RED

Ai ada aur sunaein bhi kya haal apna, Umr ka lamba safar tay kiya tanha humnay. Arabs used to call inferior non-Arabs as "Red." In your presence and absence, I carry a pang of guilt for not being there with you. But I miss my own self when you disappeared, blabbering at midnight with a lisp in language and blood in my reed. Your unsatisfactory zeal and indiscriminate connecting of the dots resulted in the creation of an image in a broken mirror, a thousand splendid pieces reflecting the glare of yours. My name is Red. I am half-living and half-dead. My emotions are half-frozen and half-boiled. The breeze that touches my face is half warm and half cold. I am half-crying and half-smiling. At midnight, when the moon hangs like a lamp and stars stud poetry, only then does my existence get stripped off. My soul tears the clothes it wears during the day. It is half-naked and half-wrought with tattered clothes, and tears trickle down, like a noose hanging the memories. Then ther...
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