سرائیکی ڈیجیٹل لائبریری

I first met Gandhi in 2000. I read Hind Swaraj. It shook me. The book did not argue with me. It spoke to something already waiting inside me. Soon after, I read The Story of My Experiments with Truth. Then I read everything about him I could find. When his words reached me I was…

Khawaja Ghulam Farid begins one of his kafis with a simple line. Meda ishq wi tun, meda yaar wi tun. My love is You. My friend is You. In one breath he names two things, love and friend, and gives them both to the same You. A reader may pass over this quickly. But the…

I I begin with a small sentence: I love her. The grammarians call this verb transitive. It takes an object. The action, they say, passes from the lover to the beloved. But sit with the sentence a while and the passing dissolves. The beloved receives nothing. The beloved may not even know that the sentence…

نکییں نکیں شئیں وچ کݙاھیں ݙونگھا اِتہاس لُکیا ہوندے۔ فریدݨ سئیں دے کلام وچ ہک نکی جہیں اَلا “سین” ول ول شبدیں دے چھیکڑ وچ وَرتیندی اے۔ لوکیں کوں اے اَلا ہکی وَنک وانگ لڳدے۔ پر جݙاں اَساں دھیان نال سُݨدے ہئیں تاں ڄاݨ پوندی اے جو ایہہ ترائے وَکھرے “سین” ہن، تے ہر ہک…

Few feelings perplex us as much as regret. In our everyday life we treat it as something purely bad, a burden to be avoided, almost a mark of weakness. We keep telling one another to “live without regrets. But is this the whole truth? Surely not. The same regret which we condemn so easily is…