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About the author
Zafarullah kakar , an oriental writer, who lives in a far flung village of Kalazai in Balochistan province of Pakistan, is a totally beautiful person. His memories show the dark colours of reality, love, psychology and social existence.
Tries to introduce Zafarullah kakar, his village surroundings performs a first-rate function in the back of his intelligence and potential to put in writing.
Through Zafarullah's testimonies, he takes us into the heritage of his village lifestyles, in which he fantastically portrays the traditions and hardships of the commonplace human beings. In their transcendent fashion, the listener feels that they put their heart into their paintings and promote justice and love.
Zafarullah's tales ought to consequently attain the arena, so that people can better recognize their inner and social hell via them. His phrases must be valued in each language and tradition, so that everybody can get hold of love and mild from him.
To my mum, dad, and instructors. Their lessons are alive and the journey is going on.
The names of the brothers, Najeeb and Kaleem, who enabled this book to be published.
Here are a few Stories (Fiction) I have for you.
However, I'm not entirely sure. Here are a handful of tales, some based on true situations, some not.
Since I find writing to be difficult. I cherished reading and listening to stories all of them, very few. I will create my own writing. Then I started writing with the pen. That was the initial step. I wish my mother tongue were Urdu(I started this in Urdu language,national language of Pakistan.and my own language is Pashto). If only it could be a language.
However, it did occur. In addition, I could not resist giving my salutations to Urdu poets and writers in every genre.
It took me ten years to write this book, but it will take much less time to read
.These are our eastern stories of South Asia. You will find simplicity in it. But when you read it, it will prepare you to know more about us.
Why I couldn't publish it in such a long time. Maybe it was because I didn't know the way. There was no platform in sight. I belong to a poor and resource-poor region. Not all people in the world have the same lives.
These stories are ours own, I wrote them for my people. But then I thought that literature has no borders.
