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THE WAY IT WAS: On rewriting literature and laying eggs —Mian Ijaz Ul Hassan

Salome had to take off her seven veils to make the desired impression. In comparison, a poet can disrobe the universe with a line. What awesome power he commands! The ceremony began rather informally at the new department premises for the PhD programme in Fine Arts at the Punjab University. Later, the guests were requested […]

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THE WAY IT WAS: Of truth and falsehood —Mian Ijaz Ul Hassan

Chestnut leaves of varying sizes are clustered together in bunches of eight. Each cluster is similar in form, all leaves converting to a round tip of a stem that then attaches itself to a twig. Leaf joined to leaf, cluster over cluster assemble in multitude a glorious unity of vivid green I am told that

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THE WAY IT WAS: Of sun, birds and a friendly spy —Mian Ijaz Ul Hassan

Since the dawn of civilisation teaching lessons has been a prized pursuit of tyrants and bigots. Alexander burnt Persipolis in order to teach the Persians a lesson. The atom bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki to teach the Japanese a lesson. Sharon is constantly teaching Palestinians a lesson. Bush wants to teach the ‘bad’

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THE WAY IT WAS: Of pehlwans and miniatures —Mian Ijaz Ul Hassan

 The way their young student Bashir realised in a matter of a few years what the great peers could not achieve is quite remarkable. While the old masters were singing lullabies to the dying muse, Bashir nursed her to life by imparting to it a new meaning. Ever since, the miniature painters have multiplied by

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THE WAY IT WAS: Of looswallahs and sheedis —Mian Ijaz Ul Hassan

One doesn’t need Khaled Ahmed to conjecture where Sheedi has been derived from. It is from Sheeda, which is an endearing way of referring to Shahid Julie, former wife of my friend Hamid, observed once that whenever she ventured out in Lahore’s old city, she never ever had a problem with what the English called

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THE WAY IT WAS: Of Laburnums and Kikars… —Mian Ijaz Ul Hassan

The tree, which was my inspirational source for these panels, grew at the roadside next to Simla Pahari. For years the tree had been happily bearing its golden burden for our enrichment. The extent and the number of blooms it shouldered were incredible. Why the tree was cut down and removed I will never comprehend.

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THE WAY IT WAS: Not for faith but for sport —Mian Ijaz Ul Hassan

Ibn Khuldun was wise not to enter into a controversial debate and left matters touching divinity to the divines and pursued his study of human history without metaphysical distractions There was a time I believed most poets were bad. They never ceased to run down others and brag about their own achievements. Today I am

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