Pakistan Love Quotes

For a second I was almost jealous of the clouds. Why was he looking to them for an escape when I was right here beside him?

Islam expect every Muslim to do this duty, and if we realise our responsibility time will come soon when we shall justify ourselves worthy of a glorious past.

You have to stand guard over the development and maintenance of Islamic democracy, Islamic social justice and the equality of manhood in your own native soil.

Her definition of romance was absentminded intimacy, the way someone else's hand stray to your plate of food. I replied: no, that's just friendship; romance is always knowing exactly where that someone else's hands are. She smiled and said, there was a time I thought that way, too. But at the heart of the romance is the knowledge that those hands may wander off elsewhere, but somehow through luck or destiny or plain blind groping they'll find a way back to you, and maybe you'll be smart enough then to be grateful for everything that's still possible, in spit of your own weaknesses- and his.

Don’t, please, don’t disappear.

a raped girl is bad for the family: it shows that they can’t protect their women; that they have little social standing; and that they’re not respectable. It’s worse for the victim because once a woman, or a girl—or a boy—is known as the target of a rape she becomes so despised, so shamed, so worthless that she turns into public property. No one is raped only once.

Gossip is not adopted by the bored. It is an art of discourse adopted by those who have experienced absolutely nothing thrilling in their lives; they have never really fallen in love or casually spoken to a complete stranger, and they never dreamt of doing anything extraordinary. They are a group of people with dull lives and souls.

We are a great nation and will always be one Insh'Allah..love Pakistan and its people..together lets build a peaceful and positive Pakistan!

It was too quiet for hope, and then too loud for safety. She thought of the people she had lost, of the affection, the smiles, the belonging she could never again take for granted. It was the end of a life, and as she stood there, shivering in the brief night-time chill, it dawned on her that it was the end of her childhood.

I love the juxtaposition of these words. I love the incongruity, the oddity, the very strangeness of their nearness. Dizzy Gillespie. Pakistan. What does one have to with another?

If you come to Karachi for a few days you will hate it, but if you come to Karachi for forty days, you will love it and never want to leave.

Another of them died last night. His body was in the bazaar this morning. It lay, with a collecting bowl at its feet, on the charpoy that is reserved for those who die without money or family to bury them. He looked desiccated and his skin had the sheen and color of the dates we eat to break our fast. There are new bodies on that charpoy every week.

The miraculous power of love has often been underestimated just like we underestimate the power of sleep. Most of the herculean tasks performed by men were possible because they had been deeply in love and had slept well the night before.

Was it possible that the emotion of love had somehow made me more susceptible to fear? Does the noble emotion of love make us start valuing our own lives and the lives of our loved ones more so that the feeling of fear creeps into our mindset?

I’m playing catch with Nisha and Nena. They’re standing against the opposite wall shrieking with enjoyment. They’re teenagers, but they’ve never played catch before and lack any sense of coordination; when they throw the ball to me it flies in any direction. Sometimes it hits the wall behind them. We’ve been playing for half an hour and they have only caught it twice.

Barack Obama has had a love affair with drones. By 2012, the CIA had conducted six times more drone strikes in Pakistan during the three years of the Obama administration than the agency had conducted under the entire eight years of George W. Bush,

Slavery is not a horror safely confined to the past; it continues to exist throughout the world, even in developed countries like France and the United States. Across the world slaves work and sweat and build and suffer. Slaves in Pakistan may have made the shoes you are wearing and the carpet you stand on. Slaves in the Caribbean may have put sugar in your kitchen and toys in the hands of your children. In India they may have sewn the shirt on your back and polished the ring on your finger. They are paid nothing. Slaves touch your life indirectly as well. They made the bricks for the factory that made the TV you watch. In Brazil slaves made the charcoal that tempered the steel that made the springs in your car and the blade on your lawnmower. Slaves grew the rice that fed the woman that wove the lovely cloth you've put up as curtains. Your investment portfolio and your mutual fund pension own stock in companies using slave labor in the developing world. Slaves keep your costs low and returns on your investments high.

Hi You son or daughter of Prophet Adam pbuh; wishing you peace, health and happiness. You can hope for a better hereafter, if you have contributed for a better herein. Thanking for the blessing called Pakistan is by loving thy country, thy city and the people around you. Do something for your neighbor.

Back then, I had no idea what would actually happen. That Pakistan and Afghanistan would ultimately become more all consuming than any relationship I had ever had. That they would slowly fall apart, and that even as they crumbled, chunk by chunk, they would feel more like home than anywhere else. I had no idea that I would find self-awareness in a combat zone, a kind of peace in chaos. My life here wouldn't be about a man or God or some cause. I would fall in love, deeply, but with a story, with a way of life. When everything else was stripped away, my life would be about an addiction, not to drugs, but to a place. I would never feel as alive as when I was here.

Now smiling had been something almost alien to me just a few weeks ago. But over this short period of time, I had rediscovered this art thanks to that noble emotion of love. Joy that had been bottled up inside since childhood now overcame me from deep within just like the healing water reaching folks at hot springs from regions deep below the surface.

that ugly truth about Manto, the man: that for all his love of Indian multiplicity, he went to Pakistan. He even tried convincing Chughtai to go. ‘The future looks beautiful in Pakistan,’ he said to her, ‘We’ll be able to get the houses of people who’ve fled from there. It’ll be just us there. We’ll progress very quickly.’ When I read this, I had trouble holding the two Mantos in my mind. It seemed impossible that the creator of Manto, the narrator and fictional presence, so immersed in the variety of India, seeming so much to rejoice in it, should also be the author of that remark, with its sly wish for homogeneity, for the place where ‘It’ll be just us.’ Chughtai, for other reasons, was also disgusted.

Lund Lund e Pakistan! Maa Chudaega Pakistan! Chuchhi Chodu Pakistan! Kargil Me Mushi ki begam chodo subah shaam

It was my first time back in Pakistan since 9/11, and I found a country very different from the one I remembered. Any love or admiration for America was gone. In its place was an irrational paranoia that passed for savvy political consciousness. Looking back at that trip, I see now the broad outlines of the same dilemmas that would lead America into the era of Trump: seething anger; open hostility to strangers and those with views opposing one’s own; a contempt for news delivered by allegedly reputable sources; an embrace of reactionary moral posturing; civic and governmental corruption that no longer needed hiding; and married to all this, the ever-hastening redistribution of wealth to those who had it at the continued expense of those who didn’t.

I believe I did succeed in making Indian uslims look upon me as a friend: when I was nominated to be a member of the Rajya Sabha many said, "We have another Muslim in Parliament." Others who disliked my views called me an unpaid agent of Pakistan. I treated both views as compliments.

I didn't think I was so special, but actually that was the key: If this ordinary Pakistani girl could pursue the thing she loved most - cooking - and could make it to the tippy-top and do what she loved on TV, then what was to stop all of us little brown girls from carving out new paths, from calling attention to the hungry children, the silenced dreamers, the oddballs and rebels who long to go against the grain?

Pakistan is an Islamic country and the victim of an Easter terrorist attack. Groups like Isis or in this case the Taliban are not about religion. No more than the KKK is about Christianity. These groups are about hate! I did post on the Pakistani attack because it is really important to point out that brown and black people in the middle east and Africa are being killed. Terrorism isn't about Islam. It is about hate. SO let's fight this hate. Let's stand united with our Islamic brothers and sisters who are being slaughtered. Step back from judging a religion you are not exposed to. Understand that we need to work together. ALL faiths. That's how we defeat this

When one has been as near to the reality of Life (which after all is Death) as I have been dearest, one only remembers the beautiful and tender moments and all the rest becomes a half veiled mist of unrealities. Try and remember me beloved as the flower you plucked and not the flower you tread upon . . . . Darling I love you—I love you—and had I loved you just a little less I might have remained with you—only after one has created a very beautiful blossom one does not drag it through the mire. The higher you set your ideal the lower it falls. I have loved you my darling as it is given to few men to be loved. I only beseech you that the tragedy which commenced in love should also end with it. . . . Ruttie Jinnah's last letter to Jinnah

Norbu rejects the Western stereotype of Tibetans as an innately nonviolent people, a romantic notion which he thinks gratifies many Western people discontented with the aggressive selfishness of their societies but obscures the political aspirations of the Tibetan peoples and the variety of means available to them to achieve independence. In 1989, he published a book about one of the Khampa warriors of eastern Tibet, who fought the invading Chinese Army in 1950 and then initiated the bloody revolt against Chinese rule that eventually led to the Dalai Lama's departure for India. "We are ordinary Tibetans," Norbu told PBS. "We drink; we eat; we feel passion; we love our wives and kids. If someone sort of messes around with them, even if they're an army, you pick up your rifle.

The pro-independent Kashmir organisations , on the other hand, would love to see the constitutional arrangement be scrapped because Kashmir in their view would then “become a clear Indian military occupation” without a “legal instrument” guiding its relationship with the Indian Union.

Across the globe I am often referred to as "the Indian neuroscientist" or "the Indian Author", despite the fact that my work is practically nonexistent in India, statistically speaking. Considering that, 90% of my book sales come from US, UK and Canada, the rest 10% from Europe, Mexico, South America and Australia, and zero from India - for transparency and context purposes I'll tell to you one more time - Abhijit Naskar is an Earth Scientist - Abhijit Naskar is an Earth Poet - Abhijit Naskar is an Earth Philosopher. However, it's never about the sales, it's about the love. I only mention the demographics to put things in perspective. For example, there are many countries where people cannot afford to buy my books, since they are expensively exported from US and Europe, and yet, I receive far more love from these countries than the land I was born in. Philippines and Pakistan to name a few. As a matter of fact, hate wise speaking, Philippines is the only country so far, where I have not faced any hate and bigotry - which only goes to prove that, state of a currency does not reflect the broadness of heart. That's why, a substantial portion of my work is available freely on the internet. The point is - I am no more Indian, than I am a Yank or Canadian or Mexican or Turk or Swede or Pinoy or British or Brazilian or Egyptian or Aussie. Passport is just a glorified bus pass - nothing more. So, I repeat - I am an Earth Scientist - remember that. Nationalization of Naskar is desecration of Naskar.

The figure of the mother on the magnificent stage at the YeD ceremony offering another son as cannon fodder and the overflowing mass of people in the NoK enclosure hint at the tragedy of death in war as well as at the casualness of life, the apparent ease with which it is offered to the military. These are subjects of violence that are willing to endure violence not only to their bodies but also to the bodies of those they love. 26/378

The next of kin stand ambivalent about the project of militarism and the use of their blood to serve a construct that they may not believe in or want to sacrifice for. Yet they accept this violence inflicted on them and on the bodies of those they love. They say “Khena parta hai” (“You have to say it”) and behave as though they do believe. They say it because they know the military is watching. They say it because without this frame the son’s death would be futile and the grief too great to make sense of. They say it because they need to say it to avoid the guilt and the realization that maybe the risk taken was too great and because they must accept the money and benefits offered, as it was for material needs that the tribute to the nation was risked in the first place. 204/378

Here, the disappearance involves the physical absence of a loved one, which leads to the intensely experienced loss of someone who was once dear and is now permanently lost. Damage for a loss can be calculated provided a system of exchange exists that can assess the injury. If there is no system of exchange, then no compensation is possible. Ophir suggests that the response to a condition of loss is mediated through “interest in what has disappeared” and “the impossibility of entering into an exchange cycle and restoring the disappeared.” He suggests that “each one of these on its own is a necessary but insufficient condition” for something to be experienced as loss. There are two ways to annul a loss: first, to let go of interest, and second, “to reduce it to the exchange value in some sort of exchange economy.” 217/378

Plight of A Pakistani (The Sonnet) The world sees us as a terrorist nation, Why is it so? Despite our love and care for family, Why do you deem us as extremist foe? As responsible citizens with a beating heart, We too want for our kids a world of peace. Yet whenever there's an act of terror, Why are we at the top of your suspect list! Every nation has terrorist elements, The Capitol insurrection is proof of it. But how can you blame an entire people, For the acts of a bunch of bigoted misfits! We don't ask you to show us pity. Just keep in mind, we too are part of humanity.

We must be the best people we can, the nicest people we can be. What others think we are doesn’t matter. If we are the best that we can be, Jesus knows it, and it’s what he thinks that really matters, isn’t it?

I no longer love blue skies. In fact, I now prefer grey skies. The drones do not fly when the skies are grey.

You commit a crime if you support and collaborate with hired members of the criminal intelligence agencies who approach you to eliminate the truth. Sure, you also perpetrate and exploit the rules in an unfair context; indeed, it obtains a desired outcome that victimizes the victim.” “As a human, I love and respect all people; I fight for others’ rights as an advocate of humanity; and I also bring to justice those who commit crimes and misdeeds, regardless of distinctions, even if I face the consequences and victimization. Despite that, I never hesitate to exercise and practice it, feeling and learning that if death is everyone’s fate and destiny, then why not accept it in such a glorious way?” After being victimized by fake accounts of Rumi and the son of a shit, Sa Sha, on social media, I blocked them. However, they cannot escape from the inhuman crimes that they have been committing on social media while living in a civilized society. He, the son of a snake, and she, the shit of a snake, disappeared, working together to victimize me for many years with the consent of criminal intelligence agencies and Qadiyanis, the followers of a fake religion of a fake Jesus. More than a decade ago, their profiles started with fake names; behind that were a top cheater, criminal, inhuman, sadist, pretender, and worse than a beast, with the conspiracy of other criminals. However, I became the victim of those criminals and inhuman nature who succeeded in putting me on the death list. In 2020, the criminal’s chief and his gang from Canada, Germany, the USA, Australia, the Netherlands, Pakistan, India, the Middle East, and around the world, along with other criminals, succeeded in deleting an article on me on Wikipedia and sending abusive, insulting, and discriminating emails to my immediate family. They remained in their criminal ways to defame and damage me, but they significantly failed and faced the penalty for their wrong deeds by God and the law of the world. Despite that, they reached their mental match once to further victimize me; this time, they were directly on my social media, but through their team of evil-minded people to victimize, harass, threaten, and damage my writings, label restrictions, and lock my account every time. Read this underlined link in detail. As a result, I became compulsive enough to deactivate my profile on Twitter to stay away from all such scoundrels. Alas, deactivated Twitter account will automatically become deleted forever after thirty days; consequently, I will lose more than one hundred thousand tweets and my post data because of Elon Musk and his dastard team, who support the political mafia and forced me to remove a screenshot of a Wikipedia article that was illegitimately removed as they harassed me by tagging, restricting, and locking my account and asking my ID card to transfer my privacy to third parties of political criminals and to make my opponents happy. It is a crime to restrict freedom of expression through such tactics under the umbrella of community behaviour.

We are all like book covers. The outside cover tells us a minimal amount of information—enough to interest us to read more, or enough to tell us not to bother and put the book back down. “If you don’t take the chance to read the book, you’ll never know what you might have missed.

But my bucket list had only three items. Become financially independent. Be known for my work. Find true love.

I go home, open a beer and try to get my mind off this suddenly complicated situation. A few hours ago, I thought maybe I was falling in love with Aisha. But just knowing her nationality has me questioning my feelings and the possibility of forming a deeper bond with her. But then again, how can I ignore the connection that has already been established? How can I erase feelings that have already developed in the brief time we spent together? It was like pieces of a puzzle coming together to create a beautiful picture. How can I not credit my songs to the inspiration of her presence? But at the same time, I cannot be in love with an Indian girl, it would never work out.

I do not want to love Muslims, even if the Bible tells me I should. I find difficult to love those who persecute me.” “You love your grandfather.” “Of course! He was everything to me.” “He was Muslim.” “He was Christian,” Victoria corrected. “Not always.” Professor Nasir put a pointer finger to his lips and regarded Victoria thoughtfully. “He was once a Muslim, but you were still able to love him. Did you love him because he was Christian?” “No, it was because he was my grandfather and a wonderful man.” “What lived inside him made the difference, not what religion he proclaimed. Is that correct?” “Of course!” “That is how it should be for everyone we meet. We must not judge people based on what we see on the outside. Instead, we must look past things such as religious labels, skin tones, gender, age, and economic status to see what lives within. That is how we fulfill Christ’s teachings.

She had found the courage to forgive him, the faith to carry it through, and the ability to stand up for herself.

Note: Whether Kamala Harris or Donald Trump becomes president of the USA, there will be changes; nothing nor the world will be able to enjoy peace and human rights. However, one change will be definite if Kamala takes the black presidential oath in the White House atmosphere. A man of accusations, Trump should enjoy the retirement of life with beauties. An open letter, which Ehsan Sehgal wrote to him, is republished in Medium to realize his political character and role.  Dear President of the USA, Donald Trump  Your Excellency,  Equality, justice, harmony, and love, within the concept and context of security and respect, are for the entire humanity, not only for the USA and its people. Global peace lies in a step that pulls out your troops from the Muslim States and stops interfering with its systems and way of life; all terrorists will disappear, and peace shall prevail.  One should realize the atrocities of Israel against Palestinians’ determination and India against Kashmiris that the United Nations and its Security Council failed to resolve and solve those disputes under the umbrella of the USA. Consequently, each one of us faces the consequences.  You, as a leader of a great nation, ought to be great and noble. It is possible if you change your distinctive thoughts and policies, you may change human history, becoming the historical leader of the entire humanity that suffers from injustice, hunger, and death.  As far as I know, the Pakistan Armed Forces have devotedly and significantly sacrificed along with the Armed Forces of the USA for global peace, so never degrade your national pride by ignoring, denying, and forgetting the sacrifice of Pakistani men and women, which they are still paying. You should cooperate instead of becoming influenced by the opposing third party to accuse Pakistan. They are a peaceful nation and are determined to stand along with the US forces to eliminate all sorts of terrorists for world peace. God bless you.  Ehsan Sehgal

I want to blow your mind away, Pakistan. With love Yours destructively, TTP

Pakistanis love cricket as fervently as Indians – maybe even more. Geoff Lawson, the former Australia fast bowler and Pakistan national team coach, told me he thought Pakistanis cared more about cricket ‘because there’s not a whole lot else for them to do. It’s either cricket or the mosque’.

Two years after Midnight’s Children he published Shame, the second part of the diptych in which he examined the world of his origins, a work deliberately conceived to be the formal opposite of its precursor, dealing for the most part not with India but with Pakistan, shorter, more tightly plotted, written in the third person rather than the first, with a series of characters occupying the center of the stage one after the other instead of a single dominant narrator-antihero. Nor was this a book written with love; his feelings toward Pakistan were ferocious, satirical, personal. Pakistan was that place where the crooked few ruled the impotent many, where bent civilian politicians and unscrupulous generals allied with one another, supplanted one another, and executed one another, echoing the Rome of the Caesars, where mad tyrants bedded their sisters and made their horses into senators and fiddled while their city burned. But, for the ordinary Roman—and so also for the ordinary Pakistani—the murderous, psychotic mayhem inside the palace changed nothing. The palace was still the palace. The ruling class continued to rule.

Forget and forgive the pastime. Each one of us should unite in the name of humanity, love, harmony and peace. The boundary walls, execute not the problems and damage. However, if one cannot open that, one may open the lack of heart, mind, and eyes, which constitutes only the hatred and enmity, for nothing. India and Pakistan should feel and remove such evil elements from its agencies that hinder to peace, and welfare of both sides people. No one will help if one cannot decide, and encourage the peace and love. Each one of us should realise the speed of the world; it is time, to feed, educate and save the people, not to kill them for hatred or evil purposes.

He could not help but admire his posters every time he saw them---the son of a rickshaw puller, now the chief of a prominent political party in this town, who was expected to win by an unprecedented margin of votes in the coming elections. There were many people in the party who begrudged his presence, his power, but they could do nothing. The people of Amrapur loved him and his speeches. Some people called them inflammatory, divisive, and harmful to the peace and harmony of the town. A smile spread across his face every time he heard that word. Has anything ever been achieved by harmony? What would the leaders do with harmony? Why would people come to listen to his speeches in droves if they wanted harmony? Elections can never be won by harmony.

I learned my English language, because I love to study, seriously. I am different. Belgium is watching, India and Pakistan. Do not forget Germany.

I walked away loving the mountains. Mountains don’t see the difference in colour, caste, creed, no Pakistan, no India. They judge everybody the same way. They are pure. It’s we human beings who mess things up.

I said that before leaving Pakistan I would make an offering of an Urdu couplet to the Minister, which might come in handy when he next faced the thekedars of Islam. It ran: Mullah, gar asar hai dua mein To Masjid hila kay dikha Gar nahin, to do ghoont pee Aur Masjid ko hilta deykh (Mullah, if there is power in your prayer Let me see you shake the mosque! If not, take a couple of swigs of liquor And see the mosque shake on its own.)

But nobody lives in a universal thing called culture. They live only in specific cultures, each of which differ from one another. Plays written and produced in Germany are three times as likely to have tragic or unhappy endings than plays written and produced in the United States. Half of all people in India and Pakistan say they would marry without love, but only 2 percent of people in Japan would do so. Nearly a quarter of Americans say they are often afraid of saying the wrong things in social situations, whereas 65 percent of all Japanese say they are often afraid. In their book Drunken Comportment, Craig MacAndrew and Robert B. Edgerton found that in some cultures drunken men get into fights, but in some cultures they almost never do. In some cultures drunken men grow more amorous, but in some cultures they do not.

The crush of men waved their arms in the air and shouted that they loved Sharif. He spoke into a microphone, but it was broken and no one could hear anything he said. Speech over, Sharif climbed down from the counter and slipped into a bulletproof black Mercedes, courtesy of his good friend, King Abdullah, who had also shipped Sharif back to Pakistan in a Saudi royal plane. Now,

Dear Mr. President of the USA, Donald Trump Your Excellency, Equality, justice, harmony, and love, within the concept and context of security, and respect, are for the entire humanity, not only for the USA and its people. Global peace lies in a step that; pull out your troops from the Muslim States and stop interfering with its systems and way of life; all terrorists will disappear, and peace shall prevail. One should realize the atrocities of the Isreal, against Palestinians’ determination and India, against Kashmiris that the United Nations and its Security Council fail to resolve and solve those disputes under the umbrella of the USA. Consequently, each one of us faces the consequences. You, as a leader of the great nation, ought to be great and noble; it is possible if you change your distinctive thoughts and policies; you may change human history, becoming the historical leader of the entire humanity that suffers from injustice and hunger and death. As I know that Pakistan Armed forces have devotedly and significantly sacrificed along with the Armed Forces of the USA for global peace, so never degrade your national pride, ignoring, denying, and forgetting that the sacrifice of our men and women, which we are still paying. You should cooperate, instead of becoming influenced by the opposing third party, to accuse Pakistan. We are a peaceful nation and determined to stand along with the USA forces, to eliminate all sorts of terrorists, for world peace. God bless you. - Ehsan Sehgal

Her father must have sifted through hundreds of marriage résumés to narrow the field down to these ten names. Ten men he thought would make her happy and treat her with kindness and respect, unlike Jonas and all the men she'd dated before him. Layla had always considered herself a modern desi woman. She was as comfortable in a sari as she was in jeans and enjoyed hamburgers and potato chips as much as dal and curry. Her life revolved around Western friends and a large and extended family of immigrants from Northern India and Pakistan who had brought their culture and beliefs with them- one of which was the benefit of arranged marriage over the Western concept of love. Despite Dev's wonderful relationship with Rhea and the success of her parents' union, Layla had never been interested in having an arranged marriage. Even after a string of failed relationships and heartbreak, she had always believed in true love. Her soul mate was out there waiting for her. All she had to do was open her eyes.

Anybody who criticizes the corporate takeover of Adivasi land is called an antinational “sympathizer” of the banned Maoists. Sympathy is a crime, too. In television studios, guests who try to bring a semblance of intelligence into the debate are shouted down and compelled to demonstrate their loyalty to the nation. This is a war against people who have barely enough to eat one square meal a day. What particular brand of nationalism does this come under? What exactly are we supposed to be proud of? Our lumpen nationalists don’t seem to understand that the more they insist on this hollow sloganeering, the more they force people to say “Bharat Mata ki Jai!” and to declare that “Kashmir is an integral part of India,” the less sure of themselves they sound. The nationalism that is being rammed down our throats is more about hating another country—Pakistan—than loving our own. It’s more about securing territory than loving the land and its people. Paradoxically, those who are branded antinational are the ones who speak about the deaths of rivers and the desecration of forests. They are the ones who worry about the poisoning of the land and the falling of water tables. The “nationalists,” on the other hand, go about speaking of mining, damming, clear-felling, blasting, and selling. In their rule book, hawking minerals to multinational companies is patriotic activity. They have privatized the flag and wrested the microphone.

Telling my mother I wanted to marry a white English boy was a shock for her and maybe it even felt like a betrayal. Perhaps if I had been more trusting with her growing up, if she hadn’t opened my post, if I had learned not to keep secrets, if I had had more privacy, if I had been more understanding, if we had both been less angry, if I was more like my cousins in Pakistan who were so well behaved and never spoke back, if the pressure to be perfect was not so intense, then perhaps the more difficult stages of life, the more difficult conversations we’ve had, might have been easier for us both to navigate.

When I was studying in 12th/ Intermediate Level in Ravenshaw College, I read the novel "Train to Pakistan" by the great writer Khushwant Singh. I read the struggles and sadness of the people from both sides of the border in the partition that happened in 1947. I am poet, and I believe in love and peace. We the homo sapiens are capable of great things, but let us not get narrow minded and hate each other. Our world needs more loving hearts.

In my 12th / Intermediate Level in Ravenshaw College, I read the novel "Train to Pakistan" by the great writer Khushwant Singh. I read the struggles and sadness of the people from both sides of the border in the partition that happened in 1947. I am poet and I only believe in love and peace. We the homo sapiens are capable of great things, but let us not get narrow minded and hate each other. Our world needs more loving hearts.

In my 12th / Intermediate Level in Ravenshaw College, I read the novel "Train to Pakistan" by the great writer Khushwant Singh. I read the struggles and sadness of the people from both sides of the border in the partition that happened in 1947. I am poet, and I only believe in love and peace. We the homo sapiens are capable of great things, but let us not get narrow minded and hate each other. Our world needs more loving hearts.

See, as per vedas, Ganapathy is a goddly creature born for shiv and parvati and he has three consoles and ganeshloka as abode. But as per mythics and legends and epics these goddly creature will take multiple reincarnations or avatars and I was born as son of krishnamoorthy not shiv and I chose a path of sarawati even after reading all hindu relgious texts. Because I visualized my path, my goal is in biological research and space exploration an for that I needed universal knowledge although as shivs son also had universal knowledge but trapped in family cycle and he said parents are universe, but for space exploration in this reincarnation he needed different parents. still parents are universe but path is biology and space exploration thats why i had to choose saraswati as my goddess as she is goddess of universal knowledge although she is not exactly Indian. But Previous cycle also touch christianity and Rajput clans, so I am Indian and always Indian. Tamil as my land of birth, I love them and I dont want to see them as slaves but as respectful Indians. So they need to change a lot. And north indians are ncessary for national importance so whatever they are doing can not be avoided. Karnataka is a place of business, Andhra is place of family, culture. Maharashtra is misusing Ganapathy, Kerala poor souls. Everywhere there are criminals and I dont care about them what I care is respectful and peacful life for all humans on the world. Only nations I doubt are China and Sri Lanka. I am going on my path as it was predetermined, but choosing biology on which instituion (Obviously other than China, North Korea and Srilanka) - Rest of the world is accepted as long as terrific brothers i e Pakistan is not going against peace. All other nations will understand the importance of peace although they have issues among them. In science, if extreme is required kindly do 100% safe regulations after getting opinions from each and every human and biodiversity and climate change as concerns on that location

WISDOM KEEPER: My Extraordinary Journey to Unlock the Sacred Within “Chloe’s heartfelt journey is the real deal here to inspire us all. She takes the reader on a journey of darkness to light, struggle to freedom, fear to love. Thank you, Chloe, for this incredible ride. A must read for all who want true transformation.”— Dr. Shannon South, Award-Winning Therapist, Best-Selling Author, and Founder of the Ignite Your Life and business programs “There is a healing purpose in every experience written by Chloe in this spiritual memoir. She shares processes for healing in the physical, emotional and spiritual realms, showing us our ability to use all levels of energy to achieve deep and lasting healing. Chloe reveals to us the importance of connection—with the spiritual and physical world, and our past lives to the present. She reminds us we are essential in the Universe; when we heal, our loved ones, people around us, and the Earth also heals. Chloe inspires us to do the same thing. Well done. I appreciate it very much. This book is truly for everyone. — Eduardo Morales, Shamanic Curandero, Tepoztlán, Mexico “WISDOM KEEPER is filled with wonderful personal experiences on the power of healing, visualizations, dreams, and listening to our inner voices. Chloe Kemp describes encounters with others on a multitude of levels, including sacred beings, shamans, and other deep-souled humans. This book inspires the reader to go deep within themselves and invite their own personal self-healer to emerge. Chloe helps us to understand that anything is possible.”—River Guerguerian, Sound Immersion Healer, Musician, Composer, and Educator  “Having met and worked with Chloe personally, I know she is a genuine woman with a mission and clear determination to fulfill her purpose in this life. She has followed the call from Spirit to share stories from her life and wisdom she has gained, weaving energies and expressing a frequency of consciousness that has a way of bringing readers to a deeper state of awareness and potency upon their own unique journey. Chloe's book shines a light on our ability to reconnect with the origin of what makes us each a special part of the Divine plan, and she does it in a very humble and approachable way."—Michael Brasunas, Holistic Energy Healer and Bodyworker “Your inspiring memoir is engaging and thought-provoking throughout. It brings together the highest spiritual insights and practical frameworks that everyone can understand and apply.”—Louise, Australia  “A fascinating read!”—Caleb, USA  “The narrative is immensely raw and deeply personal. It engaged all of my emotions completely.”—Abantika, India   “A remarkable story.”—Michael, USA “The writing style is amazing.Your life experiences are so unique.”—Taibaya, Pakistan  “You have a gift for spiritual healing and telling a story. You created a hopeful, sincere, compelling, interesting, and important story.”—Jessica, USA “You tell events, dreams, and moments in your life in a very engaging and thought-provoking way.”—Josh, USA  “Very entertaining, awakening, and engaging; as well as informative, practical, motivating and inspiring.”—Susan, USA      

After that letter, I became a victim of the secret agencies in March 2013. I am not going into details, but it is enough information related to my letter written on 20 November 2012 to retired Chief Justice Iftikhar Chaudhry and Chief of Army Staff General Pervez Kayani; the details are in my biography, The Prisoner Of The Hague, on Google Books.com. I hope that information will enlighten Pakistani authorities to realize the facts that foreign secret agencies' engagement to damage the Pakistani state through hired ones since the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. It is the shameful behavior of our agencies and media figures who stay ignoring and do not take it seriously. Please do not wear the mask if you love Pakistan and its people; there should be clarity between you and the enemy.

At breakfast we had an interesting discussion on the various Christian workers in Pakistan. I was understandably gratified to notice that everyone to whom I have spoken is very appreciative of the fact that no attempt at conversion is ever made by the Catholic teachers or medical workers. In the past thirty-five years, during which they have educated thousands of Muslim girls, the Presentation nuns haven't had one convert; I've spoken by now to over twenty of their past pupils and the nuns are universally loved and admired. On the other hand, all the Protestant Missions (educational and medical) stink in Muslim nostrils because their teaching and medical treatment is always accompanied by what the Muslims call 'insulting propaganda. In their schools the children have to study the Bible and Christian doctrine and with their medicines they also dispense leaflets and pamphlets on the 'Good Path to God'. I know that this is true because I visited a Protestant Mission Hospital the other day and the matron showed me the 'literature' they distribute—awful sickly stuff that would put a Pope off Christianity for life. My host summed it up pretty well this morning when he said, 'The Protestants seem to come here because they hate Islam and the Catholics because they love God.' No doubt it's a matter of opinion which attitude is correct, but personally I'm entirely with the Catholics who have the good sense and good manners to admit in practice, if not in theory, that Islam is a different, but not necessarily inferior or wrong 'Path to God'. And, of course, the result is that in Pakistan a genuine good feeling exists between educated Muslims and Catholics, though here, as elsewhere, the semi-illiterate Mullahs hate any form of Christianity.

War seems like romance until you lose your loved one in it.

Back then, I had no idea what would actually happen. That Pakistan and Afghanistan would ultimately become more all consuming than any relationship I had ever had. That they would slowly fall apart, and that even as they crumble, chunk by chunk, they would feel more like home than anywhere else. I had no idea that I would find self-awareness in a combat zone, a kind of peace in chaos. My life here wouldn't be about a man or God or some cause. I would fall in love, deeply, but with a story, with a way of life. When everything else was stripped away, my life would be about an addition, not to drugs, but to a place. I would never feel as alive as when I was here.

During the twenty-one year rule of Amir Abdul Rahman (1880-1901), one of Afghanistan's more pro-British rulers, only one school was built in Kabul, and that was a madrassa. Condemned to play a passive part in an imperial Great Game, Afghanistan missed out on the indirect benefits of colonial rule, the creation of an educated class such as would supply the basic infrastructure of the postcolonial states of India, Pakistan and Egypt. Afghanistan's resolute backwardness in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was appealing to Western romantics. Kipling, who was repelled by the educated Bengali, commended the Pashtun tribesmen- the traditional rulers of Afghanistan and also a majority among Afghans- for their courage, love of freedom, and sense of honour. These cliches about the Afghans, which would be amplified in our own time by American journalists and politicians, also had some effect on Muslims themselves.

Now as the train moved towards Calcutta, Malay felt as if his life was coming full circle. It had been a strange decision to visit the city at a time when post-Partition vomit and excreta was splattered on Calcutta streets. Marked by communal violence, anger and unemployment, the streets smelled of hunger and disillusionment. Riots were still going on. The wound of a land divided lingered, refugees from East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) continued to arrive in droves. And since they did not know where to go, they occupied the pavements, laced the streets with their questions, frustrations and a deep need to be recognised as more than an inconvenient presence on tree-lined avenues. The feeling of being uprooted was everywhere. Political leaders decided that the second phase of the five-year planning needed to see the growth of heavy industries. The land required for such industries necessitated the evacuation of farmers. Devoid of their ancestral land and in the absence of a proper rehabilitation plan, those evicted wandered aimlessly around the cities—refugees by another name. Calcutta had assumed different dimensions in Malay’s mind. The smell of the Hooghly wafted across Victoria Memorial and settled like an unwanted cow on its lawns. Unsung symphonies spilled out of St Paul’s Cathedral on lonely nights; white gulls swooped in on grey afternoons and looked startling against the backdrop of the rain-swept edifice. In a few years, Naxalbari would become a reality, but not yet. Like an infant Kali with bohemian fantasies, Calcutta and its literature sprouted a new tongue – that of the Hungry Generation. Malay, like Samir and many others, found himself at the helm of this madness, and poetry seemed to lick his body and soul in strange colours. As a reassurance of such a huge leap of faith, Shakti had written to Samir: Bondhu Samir, We had begun by speaking of an undying love for literature, when we suddenly found ourselves in a dream. A dream that is bigger than us, and one that will exist in its capacity of right and wrong and beyond that of our small worlds. Bhalobasha juriye Shakti

I have spent more than 19 years of my life living in Pakistan, an Islamic Republic. If you wish to see what hell might actually be as a non-believer, skeptic, freethinker, atheist – pay a visit to this country. Islam rocks the cradle here but I do not talk of Pakistan in particular; you may visit any religion-dominated country, especially if it is an Islamic republic, and find yourself stifled.

My childhood crush once gave me a name. ‘Qandeel?’ It’s the name everyone knows me by. Q—Queen A—Appealing N—Naughty D—Dazzling E—Elegant E—Exquisite L—Lovely Well, that’s Qandeel. But Qandeel who? Qandeel from Shah Sadar Din, a girl who belongs to the Baloch Ma’arah tribe. Qandeel Baloch. Yes. That worked. Qandeel. It was a beautiful name. What did it mean? Qandeel ka matlab hai roshni. The light.

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And after the Mutiny, General Mansfield, the Chief of the Staff of the Indian Army, wrote about the Sikhs: 'It was not because they loved us, but because they hated Hindustan and hated the Bengal Army that the Sikhs had flocked to our standard instead of seeking the opportunity to strike again for their freedom. They wanted to revenge themselves and to gain riches by the plunder of Hindustani cities. They were not attracted by mere daily pay, it was rather the prospect of wholesale plunder and stamping on the heads of their enemies. In short, we turned to profit the esprit de corps of the old Khalsa Army of Ranjit Singh, in the manner which for a time would most effectually bind the Sikhs to us as long as the active service against their old enemies may last." "The relations thus established were in fact to last much longer. The services rendered by the Sikhs and Gurkhas during the Mutiny were not forgotten and henceforward the Punjab and Nepal had the place of honour in the Indian Army.