The journey from Indie Game Developer to Indie Developer

19 years ago I was hooked to games. I was crazy about games. I would wake up thinking about playing games. Go to school and comeback, have lunch as quickly as possible and cling to the PC. I grew up playing Age of Empires and Sims and probably a 100…

2020

In March of twenty twenty, this world and its happenings got me excited. Life became different. It felt like Thanos snapped his fingers wearing 4 stones. Streets became empty. People stuck in homes. No life on earth existed that has witnessed a pandemic of this scale before. I became curious.…

Migration tonight!

Its winter of two thousand and nineteen. A cold one. I am on my vacations. A friend is coming to pick me up. He is late. I am standing by a roadside near a roundabout. There are cars all around, heading in all directions possible averaging 2.5 kph (I…

About Grief - 9

This is the final piece in the series. It's from Rumuz-e-bekhudi, written in latter part of life by Iqbal. We see that he has found his anchor. Sometimes I wonder, is it truly that people have found their anchor or with age just compromised and stick to one because the…

About Grief - 8

Iqbal grieving about Kashmir and unfortunately the situation is still the same. From Armaghan-e-Hijaz Today that land of Kashmir, under the heels of the enemy, has become weak, helpless and poor Once known among the wise as Little Iran. A cry of burning lament issues forth from the heavens, when…

About Grief - 7

Before you begin. Put this on. Tasveer-e-Dard (The Portrait of Anguish) from Bang-e-Dara My favorite couplet since I was 15 years old. My story is not indebted to the patience of being heard My silence is my talk, my speechlessness is my speech Why does this custom of silencing exist…

About Grief - 6

Iqbal's most work on grief is from his earlier book Bang-e-dara. Seems like he found the cure later on. Cure shines the most in Bal-e-Jibreel where his thought is mature and solid. Gul-e-Pazhumurda (A Withered Rose) from Bang-e-dara How shall I call you now a flower—Tell me, oh withered…

About Grief - 5

Nawa-e-gham (The Song of Grief) from Bang-e-Dara My life is similar to that of the silent violin The lap of which is full of all kinds of melodies The harp of the universe is sacrificed on whose silence Every string of which is the grave of hundreds of melodies The…