Eighty winters have settled upon these bones, each leaving its chafe, yet none could extinguish the warmth kindled decades ago in the hushed, lantern-lit spaces of the *Imambargah*. Participating in the mourning of Moharram since my earliest memories – the scent of rosewater and incense clinging to my child's clothes, the rhythmic thrum of *matham*… Continue reading Echoes from the Tragedy of Karbala – Part – I
Impressions, Perceptions and Views. 