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Finding Neverland Blog Archive

Lahore, my Dream City

 
Written By: Mahnoor Naveed.

Lahore is my dream city. The city that attracts people from all around the globe with its rich culture and hospitable people. The city that has so much to offer all the year round. The city that is also known as the, 'Heart of Pakistan'. Oh Lahore! You make Pakistan proud.

Lahore is to Pakistan what Paris is to France, though not the capital but the cultural heir of the country. There were times when the Mughal rulers garlanded this great city with gardens and palaces, mosques and shrines which have survived the vicissitudes of destiny. These jewels are now the proud heritage of the brimming modern Lahore and pay tribute to these great rulers.

Walk through the streets of old Lahore and you get to be amazed by the architecture of these antique pieces of art.

Lahore is the city of music, of dance, of learning, of beauty. Lahore is simply the city of Cities. Lahories enjoy a reputation for their liveliness and properly known as 'Zinda Dilan-e-Lahore'. They are progressive, liberal, hospitable and understanding.

Classical music and folk songs have an appeal of their own and are wildly appreciated by the Lahorites. Folk songs and dances reflect a wide range of mood, the rain, sowing, harvesting seasons. Luddi and Bhangra depict the joy of living. The people of Lahore celebrate many festivals enthusiastically.

The spring season is the most colourful and lively season. Basant is a way of welcoming spring. The rooftops are crowded with kite flyers and the sky is full of kites. There is so much joy in the atmosphere. So much enthusiasm and zeal.

The people of Lahore have been traditionally famous as serious-minded, down to earth and hardworking individuals who have been thronging in the educational institutions like KEMC, NCA, Govt. College, Kinnaird College, Aitchison College and CJM, which have served them for more than a hundred years. These highly educated men and women work at home and abroad in all walks of life.


Food is one thing that the Lahories can't live without. Lahories love to eat and have a great taste for food. From the narrow streets of Walled City to the malls of Gulberg, your taste buds get to be tantalized with the great taste of food. Payee, nihari and lassi. Just to name a few.

Lahore has been a great attraction for tourists from all around the world.

They love to walk through the streets of the walled city and get mesmerized by its enchanting beauty.

Shopping is always fun in Lahore. From Liberty Market to Anarkali Bazaar, Lahore has so much to offer. Treat yourself with the traditional jewellery or the colourful khussas. Buy yourselves those attractive embroidered shawls or the dresses.


Lahore is simply the 'City of Gardens'. The famous Lahore Canal adds life to Lahore. In spring Lahore is full of bloom. The famous canal festival is celebrated in spring to depict the colours of Lahore. The canal is dressed like a bride.

The lure and luster that attaches to the name of Lahore is not the work of one man. It is a heritage that has been enriched by innumerable people at different stages of history. Other cities may hold a beauty that Lahore does not possess.....but no mystery. Just imagine. Every crumbling haveli has a story to tell. Every brick has a tale wrapped in its core. Every bird, every insect has seen something we will never know.

Last but not the least, Lahore Lahore hai!!!

I hope that you all enjoyed this journey with me to Lahore as much as I did while writing this article.

The World Will Always Be a Wonder for Amy Venzalo


Written By: Fatima Haroon.
Tucked in bed, little Amy found it hard to shut her eyes and go into the ‘half-dead mode.’  Today, she had heard her cousin, a medical student, say that when a person falls asleep, he or she is believed to be half-dead since the body shuts down to some extent.  She could not understand exactly what this statement meant, but in her head, the word ‘dead’ was enough to make her keep her eyes open.  In an hour or so, she just could not bear lying wide-eyed in bed.  So, she got up and walked to her bedroom window, which acted for her, like a glass-covered theater display of the stars and the moon.  She wondered where all the ‘half-dead’ people would be right now, really.

Looking out the window, she wondered if they were really taken up to the moon until the sun started to come up, which would act as signal for the sleeping wanderers to return back to Earth.  This explanation seemed good enough for her until she wondered how they could get so high up in the sky without any rocket of some sort and without making a sound?  Remembering her science lesson, she realized that there was no oxygen on the moon, so how could they wander about the moon in their pajamas when they could not even breathe up there?

With an innocent yawn, Amy rubbed her eyes and sat down on her favorite pink stool.  Looking at that stool, she remembered her mommy once telling her that Santa made the elves make it for her for Christmas.  When she asked her mommy how they and the elves were different, she said they were just like us, only shorter.  This flash back made her to think that maybe the sleep wanderers were transformed into elves, who had to make toys every night for all the children in the world for Christmas.  She was convinced that the North Pole was really where all of the sleep wanderers were taken because she recalled watching a cartoon in which the elves were making toys in a place full of snow.  Then, Amy mumbled to herself, ‘but how could they make toys in such a cold place without any tools to work with and without any fire to keep themselves warm?'

Confused and utterly sleepy, she decided to give up the war between her fear and sleep and threw herself on her bed.  Rubbing her swollen red eyes once more, little Amy yawned one last time before she whispered, ‘Let’s find out where those sleep wanderers  really are,’ and fell asleep.

The Story of a Ball of Yarn

Grandmother

Written By: Maham Shahbaz

I will tell you about a bird today...no that wont explain it, birds are not very expressive, you see? Let me tell you about a ball of yarn. Yarn is more expressive than a living bird. So i will start now, there was this ball of multicolored yarn neatly placed in the basket with threads needles and other yarn balls. Peaceful, no? No. The problem was this that the old lady who used to knit every day. She made sweaters and mufflers for her children and grandchildren, she used every color with care but the multicolored yarn. That multicolored yarn thought there was something wrong with him and he grew sadder and sadder, he got depressed. The other yarn balls didn't talk to him nicely and when he was pushed into a corner, the old lady did nothing to defend it. So he started to tangle himself, more and more and more. Nothing was ever enough for him. He thought he was nothing and he deserved nothing. And everyday the old lady would untangle it and those few seconds would make his day. Its good to get untangled by someone who cares. As hours passed after his untangling he would think and think and later he saw that how the old woman used every other color but him. He would then tangle himself again, more and more trying to hide behind the knots, trying to mask away the betrayal he felt each and every other day. He could see in the eyes of the old lady how sad they were because she missed her family. She stopped untangling the multicolored yarn ball every day and did it for after a week then a month. There came a time when he got so used to hiding behind knots that he himself created for him that he started hiding behind them. No one can really run away for long from what they feel. He only felt purely happy when he was being untangled by the old lady herself, not her caretakers. No he hated being untangled by anyone else even himself. So he tried to stopped feeling. That did no good because then he felt a lot more and a lot more left out from other colors and from the old lady. He just wanted the old lady to tell him that he was valued like she used to every day while untangling him. There came a day when her grandchildren came to visit her finally. She gave them their sweaters, her eyes gleaming, they pretended to like them. When those teenagers got alone they laughed at the sweaters because they were "not good enough" what could be better than something made with so much care, time and love? She used to put thought into her every stitch. Only one girl liked hers and she even wore it with her favorite uggs. At night when the old lady was on her bed trying to sleep she said "you think i dont know? I know what they think, they are just thick thats all. Dont fret over every little thing. Youre my most precious yarn and i couldnt bring myself to give you up" The very next day that little girl asked her grandma if she could have her multicolored yarn and the old woman just nodded. How could she say no to someone that important? They both found the untangled yarn peacefully in the basket waiting...

Three Steps Down the Hallway


Written By: Fatima Haroon.

The hour hand made a right angle with the minute hand as the clock struck 9:00 a.m, making the morning school bell ring, for the start of school.  Hearing the bell, Mr. Rivera, the school’s math teacher, got up from his chair, went out of the teacher’s staff room, and made his way to class.  As he turned left and took three steps down the hallway, he placed his foot on the tile that always wobbles slightly because it was loose, smiling and wondering whether he should finally report this matter.  By the time he reached the classroom and turned the door knob, he could hear all those chatterboxes inside go quiet, as they could see his shadow and saw the door knob turn.  He entered the classroom, exchanged greetings with the students, and began the lesson.  Forty-five minutes later, the bell rang again, indicating that second period had started.  So, Mr. Rivera left the classroom and made his way to the second class.

After taking three steps down the hallway, he heard someone behind him slip and fall.  He looked back and saw a new student on the floor with his shirt covered with tomato sauce, along with the rest of his lunch.  He gave the boy a hand in getting back up and gave a silly little smile as he turned back and headed to the second class room.  After another forty-five minutes, he was out of the classroom and in the hallway again, and then again, and then again, each time seeing something that reminded him of the “good old days.”

When the time the clock struck 2:00 p.m., school ended and this indicated to him that it was time to head back home.  He got up from his chair, went out of the teacher’s staff room, and made his way to the school’s exit.  As he took three steps down the hallway along his way, he stood at the same spot where he had taken a picture of himself eight years ago, wearing that much-awaited graduation cap and gown and holding that well-deserved diploma in his hands.  All those memories of that floor tile he loosened once because of a dare his friend gave him, those embarrassing moments when he clumsily slipped and spilled his lunch all over his clothes and on the floor, were now delightful memories, dwelling in his heart.  Smiling to himself, he sighed and went out of the door, the very door which had acted and continued to act as a doorway to education, happiness, and success when he was a student and now, a teacher there.

The Death Mode

Church

 Written By: K.A

My heart beats fast,
There is something I cannot grasp
As it approaches me
I realise that its a blast.

I am in severe pain
My heart finds no love to gain
I am nothing without love
I am nothing without my past.

My heart aches in fear
My cheek wet with tear
I cannot feel anything
As my death comes near.

I am scared to die so soon
I still have to reach the moon
I have got dreams to fulfil
As sparkling as a silver spoon.

As twilight approaches
As the dark falls all over
I'm sad to leave this place
But i know my life is over

I realise it's the end of the road
The end of my beautiful journey
Bt before i go,I leave you a little note
I am not leaving you forever
God has just turned on the death mode.

Zimbabwe make History

Written By: Rahat Z Dar

On August 31, 2014 at Harare Sports Club, Zimbabwe make history as they beat Australia in One-Dayers after three decades. it was off to a flying start for Zimbabwe as Michael Clarke the Australian skipper won the toss and chose to bat first, but it was the Zimbabwean bowlers; mainly spinners, who dominated the first innings, till the key to scoring runs the Australian skipper pulled a hamstring that ruled him out from the remaining matches of the Tri-series, but somewhat the injured skipper managed to put up 68 runs off 102 balls, not a single Aussie batsmen could settle on the spin-friendly pitch alongside the skipper to build a partnership, only Haddin's 49 and Cutting's cameo at no. 10 helped the Australian team reach the target of over 200 runs, which from Zimbabwe's perspective was a challenge itself to chase down, and it looked even unlikely when the second innings started and within a few overs after a slow yet positive start Zimbabwe were 5 down for 105 at a point, and when Lyon reached his career-best figure 4-44, it was almost unbelievable for the Zimmers to chase it down. But Zimbabwean skipper who watched wickets tumbling down gradually from the other end became the key and scored 52* off 68 which lessened the distance to their target, with the help of Utseya and their 8th wicket partnership scoring 50 runs in 59 balls, helped them bag their second ever win against Australia, it was Utseya who inspite of being 8 wickets down, went for a big hit and scored a 6 over mid-wicket which wrapped up the match in an outstanding and memorable way. Zimbabwe finally tasted the well deserved victory after struggling to bag one in the Tri-series.

My Favorite Memory of Edward Ranzen

Memories

Written By: Fatima Haroon

‘On March 14, 1999, around 8:00 a.m., I awoke to the soothing sight of snowfall, some of it falling and then accumulating on my external window pane,’ wrote the lady in black.  She sighed out of grief and then continued with her piece of writing.  ‘I decided to sneak out for a bit before I had to attend to my wedding preparations.  After all, a little snow flake or two is not going to hurt a bride on her big day.  So, I quickly put my slippers on and ran towards the door.  I was about to turn the door knob when my mother came out of the kitchen and asked me where I was running off to at 8:00 a.m. in the morning.  “It’s snowing, mother and you know how much I love snow, especially bright and early in the morning.”  My mother chuckled and asked me to check the window in the living room and in the kitchen.  Looking through those windows, I was stunned to see that it was not snowing at all.  “I think I am losing my mind with the whole wedding preparations, I guess.”  My mother laughed and asked me to go outside and check my room’s window from outside.  It was when I was standing outside my bedroom’s window and looked up on the roof that I could see Edward, pouring that beautiful snow out of a portable snow machine. “What a wonderful pre-wedding surprise from the best fiancĂ©e ever,” I said to myself, giving a toothy smile to him.  This is my favorite memory of Edward Ranzen.  He will always be remembered and loved.  We miss you Edward, and we love you,’ concluded the sobbing widow, as she finished writing the funeral speech for her husband.

Beneath Rocking Waves

Rock waves
 
Written By: Zoha Aziz

Amma. A word that melts in your mouth. Ever imagined, how it feels while leaving your mother for the rest of her life? Her life, I repeat.

I met that long haired fairy in our aura-land. My wings were badly wounded. My legs were bleeding. Tears were streaming out of my eyes. She took me to her nest, dressed and bandaged my wounds. She sang me lullabies. I was in her lap for many days. my wounds were now getting recovered. The bond between our hearts was getting stronger like a wall of concrete. She preached me how to deal with the world, how to take care of myself. "Bah! This world is no good place for you, my little world."

She once told me about the wars in our mind.

"There's so much torment in this world. Sometimes things arrive with the speed of a whirlwind. You start feeling like someone has slapped you so hard that your brain has left it's actual position. You and your mind start playing games. For example, You can't help crying although you hate crying.