Ali, Omar and Hassan stood gazing at the sea. Wild currents crashed to the shore, spraying frothy water and salty droplets on their faces. Their
Dadi Jan, dad, mom, Samra Apa, Ali and Hannah were all huddled up in the car, enjoying the gentle April rain pattering softly on the
It was a lazy Sunday. I was still in bed. My bedroom looked like a battle ground: clothes on the floor, games and books strewn
“Can men actually fly?” asked a wide-eyed Hannah. Samra Apa chuckled: “Where have you seen that?” “In the movie,” replied five-year-old Hannah innocently. “Hmm…” Samra
“Slam!” the door banged open, and Ali walked in red-faced. Dad was replacing a fused bulb in the living room. He looked up and raised
O PHARAOHS OF OUR TIME BY KIRAN SHAH Is this how you want your stories told, O Pharaohs of our
Ali wheeled down the park on his shiny black bike in the lovely November breeze. Not far, he spotted Omar and Hassan talking to a
“I hate math!” protested Ali, with a firm chin held high. Mom reasoned with a smile: “There are many things in life that we hate,
“Oh, come on! Don’t be so secretive. After all, I am your brother. Tell me, how will you solve this problem?” pleaded Ali with Samra
“Pakistan Ka Matlab Kiya?” Omar hollered at the top of his lungs, while waving Pakistan’s flag. “La Ilaha Illa Allah!” shouted Ali. “Why are you
