Essay | After Winter
by Samee Ahmad
He wore all white in those days. Cream, beige, off-white. Sometimes he wore a kameez for so long that the winter dust settled and transformed a crisp ivory to a sullen beige.
Fiction | سبھا
by Rabindranath Tagore, translated by Nuzhat Nisar
اُس کی دو بڑی بہنوں کا نام سکیشنی اور سہاسنی تھا، غالباً ان کے ابا نے بس یہ سوچ کر کہ تینوں بہنوں کے نام ملتے جلتے ہوں، اس کا نام سبھاشنی رکھ دیا تھا۔ پیار سے سب اسے ’سبھا‘ بلاتے تھے۔
Poetry | Partition
by Hasan Mujtaba, translated by Haider Shahbaz
And in my village, the moon
The people dear to me
Like the moon
—but sometimes in my limbs i feel this shape wanting expression filling my tongue with restlessness, my body with praise, my mouth with devotion
Interview | داستان گوئی : A Conversation with Hammad Rind
by Bareerah Y. Ghani
The novelist and translator talks to Bareerah Ghani about languages, Amir Khusro, and "Fereydoonism".
Fiction | فیصلہ
by Syed Hur Abbas
اس کا چہرہ غصے کے باعث لال ہو چکا تھا۔ اس نے دائیں ہاتھ کی مٹھی کو زور سے بند کر لیا اور مسلسل مٹھی پر زور دیتا رہا، جیسے وہ اپنے غصہ کو قابو کرنے کی کوشش کر رہا ہو۔
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From the archive
Essay | The Road to Closure
By Roha Arif
I remember my attention zeroing in on my thumbs and feeling relief. I loved that they were more square than round on the edge, and my siblings usually teased me about that, but in that moment I remember loving how God had shaped my thumbs. They looked exactly like Mama’s.
Fiction | Open Them
By Saadat Hasan Manto, translated by Asna Nusrat
The camp was in an uproar but it was as if old Sirajuddin had gone deaf. He couldn’t hear anything. If someone saw him, they would think he was deep in thought but he wasn’t. He was barely aware, of anything. His entire being suspended in space. He stared at the soiled sky, the sun piercing his gaze.
Poetry | Two Sunsets on a Sunday
By Ahmad Aamir Malik
Lahore
لاہور
Lahore
After an hour of rain,
the pink sunset slants through the trees
onto the canal-
...alone in the silence
to the door of spirits
shivering souls,
vacant.