Owais Wani

Dear Mother, I know I haven't always been a perfect son but nonetheless, I can never disregard the years of sacrifices and immense love you've showered me with ever since I came to life. Thank you for the unconditional love and the never ending support and protection you raised me with. Thank you for being my friend, my confidante, my first teacher, my mentor and above all a lovely mother. Thank you for instilling a sense of morality and humanity in me. I may not tell you this very often, but none of your efforts have ever gone unnoticed in my eyes. I'm sorry for all the tears you've shed, all the moments you've thought of giving up, all the times you were tired but wouldn't stop working to make sure I'm well fed and happy. Thank you staying up with me whenever I had to stay up all night for my preparations. You always made sure to give me company and not leave me alone. Thank you for being my wall and not letting the world break me down. Thank you for

Here, I want to confess something. My memories are haunted by the sight of a mother in my locality who was dying to see her son. It still seems to me like this happened only a few days back. I still remember the name of the boy – Gowher. I can’t forget him. He was wandering around the warehouse of our locality but was never to return home. I remember his mother walking barefoot up to the gate of her house, pace down the street for some moments, look both ways and then return. She would repeat this again and again. Screaming for her son, shouting at her husband,  “He used to come before the sunset, where is he? Go and find him.”  Gowher used to play with me but now they tell me he is dead. But no one can get away from the truth and the truth, in this case, was that he was most probably killed by the Indian forces. “How can I stay silent after witnessing the harsh treatment of my parents and other family members by the Indian forces? It would be shameful of me,”  said one of the re

I Fought With My Parents to Pick a College Course of My Choice, and It Was Worth It I can feel it in the air – it’s that time of the year again! That time, when young school going kids turn into living balls of stress. Once upon a time, I was exactly that. My subjects in class 12th were commerce, unfortunately, with mathematics. Yes, you read that right. I had taken up mathematics under pressure from my parents.  “Maths ke bina kya karoge (What will you do without maths)?”  I was way too young back then to answer this. But today, as I stand on the verge of completing my graduation , I have an answer. Maths does not run your world but it surely has the power to ruin it if you belong to the “I hate maths” group. I am about to complete my Bachelors in Commerce. Yes. I fought after 12th to pursue my passion. I am not propagating fighting with parents. All I am saying is that you should stand up for your passion if need be. After 12th, I was fed up. I could not even think of

  Ashura, A Day Like No Other 1335 years ago, on   Ashura ; the tenth day of the new Islamic year (Muharram), in the early hours of the afternoon, on a sand-dune at Karbala, south of the current Iraqi capital, a convoy of men, women, and children was savagely massacred and 110 were killed by an army of over 30,000. It took the monstrous military force little more than four hours to completely and utterly annihilate the small group. The small camp led by Imam Hussain, though mythically defiant, suffered a crushing defeat. All the men were killed, as well as a dozen children and infants. The remaining women and children were taken into custody. The caravan along with the severed heads of the martyrs was paraded around the nation in a humiliating spectacle amidst demented festivities and celebrations and then, everything was over. Today, over 1.5 billion people around the world come to a standstill on   Ashura . A solemn commemoration of the single most tragic event

                                                                                                            WHEN I SAW HER It was the day of calmness, it was the day of despair, it was the age of love, it was the age of foolishness. It was the era of innocence; it was the era of fraudulence. Unlike his room, the temperature outside was a bit wintry. The unforeseen hail of his hand’s hair follicles to the winter wind was a witness. Clad with so many clothes that you would took him as a decent beggar. The colorless fluid was uninterruptedly pouring through his nose. Besides it, he got his all beddings burned while stealing an apple in a daydream. There was a lot going in his mind. Before a minute the beddings were quite a scene to be looked at. The riotous crumbs of fire jointly launched an attack on it and devastated it beyond recognition. Pillow was entirely ravaged. The quilt which was patch worked had now become a reservoir of carbon monoxide. Fumi

Owais Wani We always whine about the despotic decisions of enemies in the battle field of Karbala . Sometimes, a wish of being present there crosses our mind. we wish to be present alongside our Imam and help him to crush the despots. The idea behind all this is to help our Imam. help him to defeat those who were against humanity. But we still can pursue our goal. we can become agents and carriers of principles with which Imam broke the army of Yazid to smithereens. Whoishussain.org is an organization dedicated to carry out this mission until the dawn of mankind. With the aim of dissuading the people from using plastic, We Whoishussain.org, distributed more than 5000 paper bags, free of cost, all over the F.C Road Pune. We prepared all paper bags from newspapers . If every one act like responsible citizens, they will influence the decisions and behavior of their families and the society at large.  The cause got a good reception among shopkeepers as well. One of the responsi

From Reservation to Ration Owais Wani What gives impetus to this perpetration is the existence of a de facto throng of phlegmatic people tight-lipped over these issues. For a slew of people in this globe the killing malady means cancer,malaria or any other life taking disease. But for a certain throng of this globe it has a distinct sense. The prickly issues or whether you call them a menace like reservation to undeserving ones and determination of BPL class of people in tandem is sometimes referred as a serious malady by the people in acrimony. Malady in a sense that it makes undeserving reserved categorized people snort all the night and brings insomnia among the unreserved ones It is often intrusive when you meet a person who has no paucity of essential resources but still enjoys the reservation under backward or any other reserved category.The reservation under social caste is a typical example of apartheid which has sustained its roots till date and often bat