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Chauburji

Kaka Abbott’s Vale – Journey’s End

In last week's column, we had resumed our journey to Abbottabad after resting at Hasan Abdal, only to be stopped, a few miles short of our goal, by clouds of steam issuing from under our bonnet. Having replaced our 'deceased' radiator pipe,…

Kaka Abbott’s Vale – Journey Resumed

In last week's column, we began our journey from Islamabad to the beautiful hill station of Abbottabad. But since this column’s space is like fuel and limits our wandering radius, we took a breather just beyond Hasan Abdal at the point…

Kaka Abbott’s Vale

If any of my readers have not had the opportunity of visiting the hill station of Abbottabad, they have missed much. Despite having spent my summers as a child in Murree and developing an emotional attachment to the place, I still prefer to…

Winter Memories

I decided to spend my retired life in suburban Islamabad because of an ongoing love affair with Ms Winter and now that the object of my passion is here once again, I cannot restrain myself and must lift my pen in its praise. This week's…

Bumba

The title of this week's column is not about the deadly device that goes by the locally pronounced nomenclature of bumb. It is, in sharp contrast, the name once used by farmers in the Punjab for a life giving source of water known to us as…

The King Of Fruits

The mango season has come and gone, transporting me into a time where the appearance of this ‘King of Fruits’ was celebrated with much pomp and show. I inherited some knowledge about this oval-shaped source of unparalleled flavour from my…

The Haunted ‘Belna’

A few days ago, as I sat watching some old reruns of the ‘Twilight Zone’, I was reminded of a story passed down by my great grandmother of her encounters with a huge hairy serpent that lived in the basement below her old house inside the…

Bungalows

My family thinks that it must have been the fall I had when I was a child, or perhaps it was the wall that collapsed on me when I was a restless boy of eight. Whatever be the case, it was rumoured that my wanderlust and footloose…

Under The Cedars

I have written many tales in this column about the Murree of yore and the devastation caused in this once beautiful and pristine hill station by callous commercialisation. It is ironic that all such hot weather retreats were built by…

More Tales From The Land Of Milk And Honey

There was (and perhaps still is) a saying amongst government servants that one always cried on a posting to Bahawalpur, but one cried even more when leaving it. This is true, for I have seen many of my friends grieving over the prospects of…