Written by Akhtar Mohi-ud-Din | Translated from Kashmiri by M Siddiq Beig
Nabir Shaala was already well over three score and ten. For the most part of his life, he had darned and continued doing this even then. On the jehlum bank, overlooking the river, he owned as small three storeyed wood planked shack of a house. He invariably sat on the verandah, working, wearing thick glasses fixed in place with twisted yarn, on his nose shrilling out his favourite song: mash bo chhivireethas raati ke pyali hano And sometimes another song: tsininy poshi yangi me dyinthmas tan haa cah
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