In the blazing Saudi summer of 1983, Nasreen looked at her collection of sarees with a catch in her throat. Will she be able to continue to wear these beautiful garments? Insia crawled over, giggling with mischievous delight, and grabbing Nasreen’s face. Cheerful playing for long hours at night had…

Chapter 4 In the early 1970’s, and telephone line was stretched from Victoria street through chidiya bazaar down to Katra Abu Turab Khaan. The gali was a narrow, brick-lined walk-way sloping steeply from the road down to more winding paths. On the top of the path, exotic birds, rabbits, and…

On a crispy spring afternoon in 1977 Dr. Anwar sat on a chair next to the takhat in Qaiser Jahan Begum’s inner hall. He was wearing a visibly worn-out suit and his shoes were dirty and torn. On his face was a secret smile. He was 28 years old. This…

“Ay hay lo bitiya! Ye kya ke roz dono waqt miltay tum roney lagti ho? Dil me shak aata hai!” [Dear goodness! What’s this that you start weeping each evening just as the sun is about to set? My heart is filled with ominous foreboding!], exclaimed Qaiser Jahan Begum to…

On a sweltering summer evening of 1982, Dr. Anwar rode his Rajdoot motorcycle around the minor by-lanes of a small town called Bahraich, an hour south of India’s border with Nepal. With him was his wife, Nasreen, and two daughters. The younger one, Insia, was only a few months old…

In the middle of the graveyard there is a Neem tree. Many tender hearts cling to its roots And many tears are shed under its shadow It’s shadow is unwavering through flickering Time Time as determined as Life is fickle: That throbs sometimes above And sometimes below the green grass. You’re twice as deep as you are tall As dark beneath as green above As warm beneath as cool above As alive beneath as alive above.