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12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos is a 2018 self-help book by Canadian clinical psychologist and psychology profes...
07/10/2020

12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos is a 2018 self-help book by Canadian clinical psychologist and psychology professor Jordan Peterson. It provides life advice through essays in abstract ethical principles, psychology, mythology, religion, and personal anecdotes.- Wikipedia.

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Bridge of Clay is a 2018 novel by Australian author Markus Zusak. It revolves around five brothers coming to terms with ...
05/10/2020

Bridge of Clay is a 2018 novel by Australian author Markus Zusak. It revolves around five brothers coming to terms with the disappearance of their father. - Wikipedia

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"The astounding autobiography of the man who transformed Rumi from a learned religious teacher into the world's greatest...
26/09/2020

"The astounding autobiography of the man who transformed Rumi from a learned religious teacher into the world's greatest poet of mystical love."

Learn more about Shams Tabrezi in his own words today at home, we can deliver it to you today!

“A thrilling, razor-sharp critique of US foreign policy … Hanif is dextrous and ambitious with the literary tools of bot...
20/09/2020

“A thrilling, razor-sharp critique of US foreign policy … Hanif is dextrous and ambitious with the literary tools of both east and west … Combine this with humour as cutting as Heller or Evelyn Waugh, as precise and modern as Sam Lipsyte or Wells Tower, and you have something highly original … Red Birds is an incisive, unsparing critique of war and of America's role in the destruction of the Middle East. It combines modern and ancient farcical traditions in thrilling way” – Dina Nayeri, Guardian

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We are back to delivering your books, and taking orders.Grab your copy of the popular Netflix series, To All The Boys I'...
16/09/2020

We are back to delivering your books, and taking orders.

Grab your copy of the popular Netflix series, To All The Boys I've Loved Before book today!

23/08/2020

The Missing Jewel

The queen wore it in her crown. She looked so regal with the jewel shining in her crown, like water in a pond with the sun shining above it the jewel was priceless and the price was determined, but not so accurately. It could not be so, as this particular jewel had a long story behind it.

And so it goes. To the North of the equator and in the tropic of Capricorn, there existed a land of which two rival bodies claimed ownership. These rival bodies that co-existed previously had now developed a lot of differences. Obviously so, as the new generation came forth, it came with its own peculiarities. The foremost difference was religion and at the bottom of the list was the dress. These differences grew into enormities, which again led to war, which was sparked off by a country that ruled over them.

In this land was born Ali. Ali was taught in school about brotherhood. He was told that all the boys in his class were his brothers. Ali’s so-called brother Natoo’s father was a barber. Now it so happened that Ali’s father went to Natoo’s father for a haircut. Natoo looked down upon Ali’s father. But Ali’s father had no place else to go since Natoo’s father’s shop was close to his house.

Mr. Brown, who belonged to the ruling class, thought the world of himself. He would not even sit on the chair that Ali’s father and his companions had sat on. “Ali, Mr. Brown wants you to go to his house because he said he wants you to clean it”.

Although it hurt his pride he knew he would have to go, because Ali’s father worked for Mr. Brown. It hurt his pride because Mr. Brown thought cleaning was a petty job.

“Ali, pick up this piece of furniture and put it there”. Mr. Brown pointed with his finger to where he wanted it kept. The piece of furniture was so heavy that Ali bent over while picking it up. For his years, such a job was difficult but he had to do it.



Such were the conditions in which Ali was brought up. Others like Ali and Nattoo fought with each other, and Mr. Brown cashed in on it. The queen of Mr. Brown’s country was very dominating and she ruled with an iron fist. She was also known for her greed.

Ali’s father read the headlines to Ali one day, “Jewel missing from the museum.” Ali listened with interest and asked his father, “Who could have taken it, Dad?” His father remained silent, as he did not have the answer.

The next day Ali went to school carrying a satchel. The topic of discussion among his friends was the jewel. Natoo agreed with Ali, about the disappearance of the jewel and who was responsible. They both agreed that the queen was greedy and maybe she could have done it.

They also knew that the queen’s minister had visited their land a few days ago. The reason for his visit was still a mystery. But the timing was similar. The timing of the disappearance of the jewel and the arrival of the minister. Sure enough, a few days later, a news item in the newspaper read, ‘Queen’s crown studded with heirloom jewel missing.’ The jewel belonged to Ali and Natoo’s land as it was mined there. But Mr. Brown’s people got away with it because Ali and Natoo’s people did not get along with each other. They were busy fighting with each other.

This lesson of life has taught them the hard way.

- Ms. Zeenat Hussain.
https://www.facebook.com/zauq.lls.lums/

At Zauq, we will provide a platform for aspiring young writers, a place to grow & polish their skills and give root to their ideas to share with the world.

22/08/2020

My Friend the Tree



You should have heard it. First there was a loud creaking noise and then a thud followed by a ‘Whoosh!’
Whatever could have happened? I jumped up from my typewriter. I was in the midst of writing a story when I ran to the window to see what was going on. There, right below my window, lay the great old pine tree.

On going outside to examine the tree, I noticed that it had actually broken into half. The trunk had split from the middle.

Years ago, such trees were a common sight for me when I was a boarder at a Convent in Murree.

It seemed such a pity for this particular tree had taken twenty years or so to reach its present size. And now, in one brief moment, it had become a wreck, only fit for firewood. It had provided shade for us, as it stood tall, close to my house.

The cause of its decay was not hard to find. Right where the break had come, I could see the telltale signs of decay. Nobody had noticed this earlier. Indeed, to all appearances, this tree was as strong and healthy as any other near it, but the weakness was there just the same, slowly getting worse month after month and year after year.

As I recollected memories of my past, I saw myself clad in jeans, about to climb my tree house that was built on this particular tree. I remembered the immense pleasure it had brought friends, my family and me. Could the place be such a great source of pleasure? This was a question that crept into the heads of my houseguests, when I would tell them of my tree house. And then I’d take them there and they too went away convinced that it was.

Experiencing the songs of the birds, the fresh air touching the cheeks, the sight of the sun and the moon, made them all wish that they too had a place like this.
As for my children, I had tied a hammock on the tree so that they slept well.

Alas, it was neglect, sheer neglect, which had brought about the decay. I was too busy enjoying my life and my husband was busy earning money for our family. Still sometimes I talked to my tree. Maybe the wind whistling through the branches was my reply. Yes, I think my tree would respond to me this way. My question-answer session, as I spoke about it to the outsiders, seemed like my imagination going wild to them.

As it now lay there, reminding me that it was only good for firewood, I became sad. My son, who was my best companion too, came to me. He had sensed my sorrow.

My young man, my son, was a champion cyclist and he rode around in the neighbourhood. He got me specimens of trees and told me to select one for planting. Such gestures of his and the circulars that my husband brought home full of information from his horticultural society meetings, did make me feel a bit better. Maybe I too should start thinking about a new tree in the garden.

One day as I took my early morning walk, I saw a small plant staring at me from the base where my tree had once stood. The seed of the parent tree had given birth to this plant. Its roots taking possession of the space. A ripe green shoot was giving me proof of the continuity of life.

Another story built up in my mind. A story with a happy ending. This little plant gave me reason to be joyous.

My husband explained the phenomenon to his society. And I did not tell him that the reason behind the growth of my plant was my talking to it. My friend had left a souvenir in its place. One that would always keep its memory alive in my heart.

- Ms. Zeenat Hussain.
https://www.facebook.com/zauq.lls.lums/

At Zauq, we will provide a platform for aspiring young writers, a place to grow & polish their skills and give root to their ideas to share with the world.

The Damaged Horse Shoe      For hundreds of years the horse was the most common means of transport. Before the tractor w...
21/08/2020

The Damaged Horse Shoe


For hundreds of years the horse was the most common means of transport. Before the tractor was invented, the horse was often used to pull farm machinery. It is still used for work on ranches, but most horses are now kept for pleasure. People ride them, watch them perform and enjoy them in sports such as Polo, Hunting and Racing.

The following is the story of a racehorse and the people to whom he belonged. It was the day of the Derby. The participants with their horses, manes trimmed and shining, got ready for the pistol shot, which would indicate the start of the race. It was an event, which people really looked forward to. It was a sport enjoyed by the young and old alike. Bets were placed on the horses and the winners left with a handsome sum of money.

Mark, the proud owner of a racehorse, whispered something into Godfather’s (the name of the horse) ear. It was these ‘sweet nothings’ that brought a smile to Godfather’s lips. It definitely contributed to Godfather’s victory in the race. The owner also gave some advice to David, the jockey. David was a short and strong fellow. He fitted snugly in the saddle, just as a glove fitted the hand. He had started his career as a jockey with Godfather and longed to end it with him also. The age of any horse can be told by looking at its teeth; Godfather’s teeth showed that he still had plenty of race years to go before he retired.

Also present was Mark’s wife. She always accompanied him to the race. “Godfather is really lucky. He gets all your attention.” She would tell him. But deep down in her heart she knew, that she would not have had it anyway else. She cared for Godfather, too, and would tend to his needs whenever she could spare some time. “I think the trough of water is empty,” she’d say with concern beckoning her staff to fill the trough up. An insect bit Godfather once. Richard, the horse keeper, bathed and dressed his wound so well that Godfather was up and about in half the time than the usual. Godfather loved Richard and he would show it by cuddling up to him. This was Godfather’s family.

The people who cared for him, who were responsible for his consecutive victories. They were all there with him to see him run the race.

A few minutes before the race was to begin, David mounted Godfather and rode down to the start. But little did Mark or David know what was in store for them. Another horse owner, who was Mark’s enemy, just could not bear Godfather winning all the time. And to make sure that Mark’s horse would not win this time, he thought of a plan. He suggested to the trainer of his horse that they must visit Godfather’s blacksmith. “It won’t take us very long” he sneered. The trainer who was a little confused asked, “what wouldn’t take us long?” To this the vicious man replied, “You’d see.”

The deceitful man, when the time was just right (as he knew the time Godfather came to the blacksmith as well as the time when the
Blacksmith left his seat) damaged Godfather’s shoe. The nail ends that showed through the horse’s hoof were wrung off and turned back. He straightened them just a little in the hope that the shoe would come off during the race. He damaged the shoe so deftly that Godfather did not feel it immediately.

Finally the starter signaled the start of the race. Godfather took the lead, so erect, so graceful. His poise was proof of the fact that he would be very hard to defeat. There he went like a bolt of lightning. He moved so fast that just when you thought you had focused on him, he moved ahead. He had almost reached the finishing line, when the nail of the shoe straightened and got loose, unbalancing Godfather, who stumbled and stopped in his tracks before any further damage could take place. A race official came to guide them off the track. Godfather, Mark, Richard, Mark’s wife, David were all shocked. They failed to understand what had happened.

Some time after they had recovered from the shock of the damaged horseshoe, Mark and the trainer accompanied Godfather to the blacksmith’s. They were there to have Godfather’s old shoes removed. Also present was the man who had damaged Godfather’s shoe. He was there with his horse.

As though instinctively, Godfather trotted towards this man and lifted the foot with the damaged horseshoe and started nodding.

This scared the evil man and before the horse could burst into a fit of anger, he confessed: “I I, I, was responsible,” he stuttered and went down on his knees to apologize. Mark, who was a soft man, accepted his apology. Thus ended the story of the evil man and his horse and Godfather awaited his next victory yet again.

- Ms. Zeenat Hussain.
https://www.facebook.com/251528995373474/posts/891231671403200/?refid=12

I inherited the art of writing from my late father, Ahmed Jivanjee, who inspired me to write my first article on the problems of young parents, as I was at that time. He had it published for me in “The Muslim,” a newspaper owned by Mr Agha Murtaza Pooya. I enjoyed the fame as it kept me busy, for, as they say, an empty mind is a devils workshop. As a successful writer, my father introduced me to the offices of The Dawn and The News. He connected me to vital people who helped me prosper. Soon I began to excel at writing fiction and wrote children’s stories with the inherited knack for writing. If I were not a writer, I would have been a doctor, but by luck, I could not get into the right medical colleges. My parents believed in education being an ornament in prosperity and a refuge in adversity; the writing was the next best thing to do. My family had faith in me which led me to want to achieve something for them rather than writing for fame. Achievement in writing brings a sparkle to my eyes.

Happy Reading fellas!
20/08/2020

Happy Reading fellas!

20/08/2020

And there we have Ms. Zeenat Hussain's book of short stories published here!

We will be publishing her second book in a few days!

20/08/2020

THE LAST DIVE

Asghar belonged to the coastal town of Archipelago. His tanned skin revealed exposure to the sun; Archipelago was famous; for its pearls. And Asghar was a diver. A diver for pearls.
One morning, while leaving for work, he told his wife; I’ll get some fish, and you can cook it the same way you did last time”. At the beach he could see a large gathering of people. Upon inquiring he discovered that in the midst of this gathering, lay a dead body. What happened he asked. "I really don’t know" replied the man standing next to him.
As he made his way through the crowd, he was able to see the dead body clearly. It was of a fellow diver. The pearl divers from this town knew each other really well. They all were given a license; and were paid to search for pearls. “Oh my God!” he "exclaimed; as he saw strange marks on the man's neck. People from the press, the police and the dead man's family member were amongst the people who had gathered all around. Asghar’s wife would be waiting for the fish but he could not help it.
The police said that the marks seemed like those from an octopus. The waters were known to be safe.
What untoward incident could have killed him? The policeman decided to send Asghar to look into the matter. He had a harpoon and a cage to protect him from the mysterious beast.
He went home to tell his wife about all that had happened. "Darling do not worry. Just pray for my safe return." He loved her very much. After reaching about a 100 feet underwater it started to get dark. Though Asghar knew how deep he had come the darkness sent chills down his spine. Murky water accompanied by a hissing sound like that of a snake hissing. Three dead fish passed by him and the sound seemed to be getting closer. The cage would protect him but what if the creature were small enough to enter through the bars. He assured himself, "The waters are safe. It's just my imagination playing up." His wife's prayers were with him. His eyes searched the waters. He heard the sound of a whip lashing on something and breaking it. Just like a snake would curl around its prey squeezing the life out of him. It would be a matter of only a few minutes to be dead in such a case.
His income depended on going underwater. If, whatever this was not finished, how was anybody to invade the waters ever again? They led a comfortable life thanks to the pearls. He was able to get for his wife whatever she desired. Even then he had enough money on him to buy himself underwater, equipment and make a good saving. It was due to these savings that he had been able to purchase this harpoon gun. The advertisement said that it could also prove to be helpful in killing small whales.
Lost in his thoughts he felt the creeps from the darkness once again. He felt his cage shake. He lifted his gun and pointed it in the direction of the noise. He saw a tail and that very moment it dawned upon him that this could be what had caused the marks on his fellow diver's neck. All of a sudden, before he could react, the creature flung itself onto the cage. "Oh God! Is this my last dive? The last dive, God!" was all that Asghar could think of at this point. He quivered at the grotesque sight of this horrible huge beast. He was brave, alright, but what he saw was enough to make him want to retreat. But that was not possible. The creature hurled himself again. Asghar picked up his harpoon and aimed it at him. It pierced its centre again and again. After what seemed like ages, Asghar succeeded in injuring and eventually killing the creature. Blinded with pain it moved away. His joy knew no bounds. He had succeeded.
After he was through with his task he surfaced to a hero's welcome.

-Ms.Zeenat Hussain.
https://m.facebook.com/zauq.lls.lums/

At Zauq, we will provide a platform for aspiring young writers, a place to grow & polish their skills and give root to their ideas to share with the world.

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