Ubaidullah Pandit (عبيدالله پنڈت)

Just when I thought you would be our Lincoln And I would sing to you like Walt Whitman, ‘O Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done’, You left the ship too soon in the shifting winds; Long before it set sail, even waiting not for it to sink. Now the sceptre you hold and the helm you steer Have broken the crown you wore and the gavel you held. Take a look at who lies on the deck dead and cold. Fearful trip ours, shameful trip be yours!

I thought she was a Jesus to me, Dividing my life like history; It was somber and bleak before she came. It was 'spring like a pleasant king' after she arrived, Like someone turning the light on again. But when she left, she left me dead and cold, Oblivious and overcast like Israeli assassinations; Like thick rubber jackboots in the Kashmir character. Like an epileptic foaming at the mouth, Shuddering and waving like rosary incantations.

Re-loving is reliving, revealing and rediscovering many a thing, Like spring blooms coming out of naked winters; Like a diamond's coming of age after years of silence; Like iron coming as a revelation from the skies,  Making possible civilizations and the romance in elevators; Re-loving is your and mine replaying The hums and tunes of love recorded in the past; It's our replying to each other with  Many a song of arrivals and departures. Re-loving is reveling in your presence.

One of the greatest ethical and epistemic responsibilities of each person in the current times is to keep themselves away from fake news and misinformation. Keeping guard against it will help us protect our whole personality and how we behave towards our fellow beings. How we deal with it underpins the projection of our social behaviour. As a source of knowledge, information, misinformation or disinformation, the news which is fed to us through TV sets and web portals is of the testimonial nature. It involves someone or something conveying it by telling, which can take different forms including broadcasting and writing. In this regard, two human instincts play an important role when it comes to dealing with such sources, namely the principle of veracity and the principle of credulity . To put them simply, these two principles say that we humans in normal circumstances often tend to tell truth and we tend to believe what other people tell us; there’s a disposition towards truthfulnes...

Don't ask when I miss her; Ask when I don't. I don't on November the 31st, The only day I thought she would leave. I don't on September the 31st, The only day we didn't talk. Neither do I on June the 31st, The only day she didn't remember my birthday. On May the 31st? Yes, I do, May is the month of might-have-beens, Too many of them. April the 31st is all the more special; It provides me with too many distractions, Like too many spring sproutings. Yes, these are the stories of the days, Like seasons and cycles of joy.

Regret strikes me every moment  Like the three hands of a clock. It does all day and night, From dawn to dusk, midday to midnight. I have started weighing in regret units. It was 2020 regrets the last time I checked, Like some year of misery or a teenage tussle. A desire to right every wrong  Strikes every night just before bed, Searching for the lost moments, Like the dream movements of eyes.

Our relationship had turned into clichéd two-hand sentences; On the one hand it was as brittle as baked clay, On the other hand, as cold as iron sans strength. On the one hand we had made a kingdom of our dreams Like a beautiful statue standing on love shores. On the other hand, ours was a state with heavily taxed subjects. Falling apart, coming down crashing and crumbling, Don't ask what and who were freed. For iron couldn't mix with clay.

Ours too was a little story, great one perhaps. I was a sky over her earth, Long before there were the sky and the Earth. But with time’s flipping and flitting, Life grew through our painful separation. In oneness we had put on a cape of good hope, Vying to make East and West meet; Though I brought down skies to sail through her waters, Earth like time again turned out to be a cycle. Upon the coming of each night When the storytellers narrate, Thus love and history writhe and rhyme in pain.

Just when I thought the prices would fall in October, They rose so high that even the dead had to pay. 'What does it take to stop the sale?' I asked God. 'Deeds', He replied.  'Of paper or people, God?' He kept silent while chuckling and chewing. 'Will you only have us when we're six feet  Beneath the ground from head to heel? Won't the autumn colors see the blossoming of almond trees? Will the already long wait have to wait still? Tell me, how to stop the sale?' 'Deeds.' Of paper or people, God?

Our ways were littered with bitter arguments; Most of them were one-way. No. All of them came from my way. So when the hate mail of blames was dispatched To her door, it was refused delivery. I had packed two dozen syllogisms of hate; Years’ worth of love turned into souring sentences; An invoice of our conversations at cross-purposes; When the parcel swelled with overwhelming questions, I sent it along her way, not knowing it was my way.

The recent announcements made by The Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences are very much rewarding as well as promising. Emmanuelle Charpentier and Jennifer Doudna will receive the 2020 Nobel Prize in Chemistry. Just a day earlier on October 6, another woman called Andrea Ghez was named for Nobel Prize in Physics. Their scientific discoveries are as much great and influential as their getting the most prestigious prize is culturally and socially important. In these depressing times it’s news to cherish.  It sends out a very strong message to those who think women are not on a par with men and who stop at nothing to belittle their intellectual abilities. When provided with equal opportunities and resources, women too can contribute to any department of human knowledge including the field of science. Remember in Marie and Malala we have a two-time and the youngest Nobel laureates.  Seen purely from meaning-seeking human perspective and considering science as the modern myth-maki...

Back scars relate a variety of tales; Of cowardice, of passion, of retreat. Of bravery there rarely are any, Except the ones that issue from betrayal. Today I suffer the pain of a thousand spears, Of love’s dagger to the hilt, to the heart. My back secretes the secrets of my mortality, Of my love’s loss, of the loss of my love. Tell me, tell me, how to stop The cold days that are coming along? Is this going to be my life’s first springless winter?

Even with the dusky light of the skies, Our struggle will be mirrored by the lake. Sitting by the Jhelum and the Indus, We will sing the songs of freedom Like the Jews sitting by the rivers of Babylon. Our home is a million Jerusalems to us; We're pilgrims to its days of independence. We'll bring the walls down by the waters above; We'll melt our chains by the bars of your cage,  That's our tryst with destiny. (14/15-August-2020)

Every event presents itself in multiple ways. It has its consequences, good or bad, spinoffs, windfalls and tragedies. The Beirut Blast of August 04, 2020 is one of the biggest tragedies in recent years, killing hundreds of people and injuring thousands. Amid this devastating explosion, is there anything we can come away with? Perhaps this horrific event too has taught us a lesson, which each one of us must take very seriously and sincerely.  This blast took place just two days before the 75th anniversary of the Hiroshima incident of the Second World War. It's an appalling reminiscence of how we humans have put our survival in grave peril, bringing home to us humans the impending horror that is probably awaiting us if we fail to act wisely. There's more we must be willing to do than just pour out empty condolences. Those who died 75 years and those who died a few days ago left us with the same message and lesson. They gaze into our eyes from their graves. Through the ashes they...

Many of my friends practice law at District Court Bemina. They often share with me court-room stories consisting of strange, amusing and terrifying happenings. One thing I want to talk about a little is cross-examination of a witness, more specifically the tools with which it's carried out. Cross-examination by definition is always carried out by the opponent counsel to the witness called by the adversary party. One of my lawyer friends recounted a story wherein Mushtaq Dar, a famous criminal lawyer here in Srinagar, cross-examined a female witness. My friend recalled that no sooner had he started cross-examining her than the lady started perspiring profusely. He plied her with so many questions and in such a way that she literally started crying. It wasn't because she was guilty or complicit in or a accomplice to a crime. No, far from it. It was the very vibe which the lawyer created that frightened her. The situation worsened so much so that the judge had to intervene. Owing ...

Italy is in pain right now. Rome has fallen to its and world’s enemy. Italian physicians were the first in history to come up with the idea that diseases might be caused by invisible contagious agents. They were also among the pioneers of the germ theory. But today the country has been brought to its knees. Why? Human failings and human stupidity are to blame.  Not knowing their exact nature, the French microbiologist Andre Lwoff defined viruses in negative terms and negative statements. By that I don’t mean that he issued a value judgment regarding them, but described them in terms of lacking some identifiable characteristics. In a somewhat similar vein, I’ll say a few things about the Coronavirus outbreak vis-à-vis human stupidity.  In that connection, I want to mention here another Italian called Carlo M. Cipolla, an economist and historian, who has written a humorous essay on Human Stupidity. He has drawn up a list of the Laws of Human Stupidity which, I think, might...

I had bought her a ring. But then we each had to buy us a ring With four walls and four locks, But no kissing of hands or meeting of hearts. March couldn’t let us meet, As it was the march of disease. Though the next quarter begins, April still looks grim and bleak. May may still feel distant and dream, But her birth in the month will be God’s vaccine.  We’ll meet again on breezy banks of Dal, Breaking free of all walls and all locks.

Before defining what rumour is, isn’t it more important to know what it does? Once let loose, it proliferates more quickly than a virus. It causes more harm than a trillion or more bacteria harbouring your body. Its history of destruction is no less lethal than the great epidemics. In 2005, 950 people died because of a rumour. I would be grateful if you take it on yourself to research and know more about its sources and details. It will be part of learning, an antibody to every rumour invasion in you.  We can approach rumour from different angles so as to see every side of its ugliness: epistemological side, social and societal side, and ethical side. Let me begin with knowledge. The classical definition of knowledge is that it’s a justified true belief (JTB). Now going by the definition of rumour as “unverified information statements in circulation that arise in contexts of ambiguity, danger, or potential threat and that function to help people make sense and manage risk. (D...

When Jacob was on his deathbed he had recourse to many a metaphor which he used to bless and curse his immediate progeny. The whole of Chapter 49 is devoted to that. On this Christmas Eve I finished reading the Book of Genesis. It ends with the death of Joseph at 110. His father Jacob had died at 147. Like his father, he directs his sons that his human remains be taken to Machpelah. As I segue into slavery of Exodus, it’s immediately made known that as long as Joseph and a few generations after him lived, the descendants of Jacob lived peacefully in the land of Egypt. The trouble began with the change in political setup of the region. It happens. It did then. It does now. Many a thing changed with the BJP’s coming to power in 2014. The airs in the country changed their directions. Ever since they've been blowing as if a huge monster is fluttering its right wing, which is the only one left of him.

Today is the last day of the year 2019. It's coming to a close. My entries will change a little from tomorrow. 2019 will become 2020 and will remain so for the coming 365 days. But, no, it’s going to be a leap year with 366 days. My daily Bible reading has taken me out of Egypt. It did today. Passover just passed over, but I need to understand the yeastless bread symbolism. Israelites are told to observe this as a ritual from 14th to 21st of Avi, a 7-day observance period in the first month of the Israelite year. I'm yet to make any resolution for 2020. What should be my New Year’s resolution? Perhaps I first need to get myself an attractively bound diary. The present one doesn’t do. I've heard that a beautiful diary and a high-quality fountain pen help and inspire you to write more and write more beautifully. I may not afford the fountain pen yet, but I think I should get a diary. As to the year 2019, it leaves me with a package of memories. In the year I became a law grad...

Some things seem static, Only a morsel of a modicum matures. But the love between you and me grows As the green trees with foliage like tresses. Your name reveals waters from the sky, Mine will ever serve nourishing sprinkles To the tree of our love ever growing Up to the heavens above and life below. My Srinagar is halved here like the burnt Dilli there. In these days of sickness, may the garden of our love Spread the seeds of life like the clocks of dandelion. To Tanzeel Khan New Delhi

Busy cities either wake up early or never sleep at all; Mine looms in the middle for decades on.  I'm strange in the strangest of cities, I fear back home they might take my bride away. I board the Dilli-Jaipur sleeper to give my heart a little rest. As dawn dies, the strange city changes  Only to bring a strange light again. As God increases the day's  brightness, My eyes hurt with the corporate reflections. Today I crave a little for my Srinagar again, A city that reflects too little, takes in too much. I grow home in my heart like a flower Taken away from its homeland to cities strange. Delhi-Jaipur NH-8

I identify my love with many things; With letters Greek and Latin, With numbers Natural and Whole, With philosophies Marxian and Hegelian. When I move my fingers  Through her tresses, it feels and sounds  Like the conjugation of Arabic verbs,  A dozen of them for the time past and present. When she along me moves,  Her gait is like Marx’s march of history, A blend of both the body beautiful And the spirit lively.