Category Archives: Memories

Volume

When I’m excited over something, my voice rises in volume. My late husband didn’t like it. I would come rushing inside his sanctuary (where he was lost to me at all times) with a voice loud enough to wake up the dead.

Dear husband would totally inflate my spirits with a stern admonition — Pipe down! Do you want to tell me, or you want the whole neighborhood to hear?

That would dampen me down considerably. It was like being doused with a bucket of ice cold water. My voice would chasten to a murmur with the immediate effect of his words.  Over his objection to my loud voice, I would forget what I had come forth to babble, and would leave the room in a huff.

That huff used to be forgotten in a hour, or so, and I would return to hound him again.

DAILY PROMPT

Volume

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/volume/

Distant

Coming August will mark the fifth death anniversary of my late husband. With passing on of the years my late husband is becoming a distant memory. I feel more of his presence in both homes in Peshawar, and the village home than here in Houston.

One reason can be that his photos hang in my own homes. They keep his memory alive. The photographs mark happy times in our lives with no shadow of death looming over them. They evoke happy times. The one hanging in the hallway shows him dressed in his military uniform, and looking totally handsome, and beguiling. The other one has both of us, covers a wall in the large kitchen in our Peshawar home.

My Quran teacher said that dead people’s photographs shouldn’t be displayed in our homes. That is one reason there is a small photo of my husband only on the fridge which son has pasted, and I have not hung any others here. Anyway the home I share with son is his, although all the furniture, and things belong to me.

I am not going to remove the photographs in my own homes. It maybe wrong according to my religious teacher, but I can’t deny the comfort they bring to my heart when I look at them. Maybe God won’t disapprove, and look over my misdoing.

DAILY PROMPT

Distant

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/distant/

Trace

My youngest brother disappeared without a trace. Where did he go? No one has any inkling. His close school friends feel he is no more. He hasn’t been in touch with friends, or any family members. His friends think that he is dead, or they would have heard from him.

Whenever I think of him I feel terrible, and sad. I feel helpless at not finding what happened to him. No one has any idea. I feel totally disheartened that a living person can disappear, and no one can trace him, or find his whereabouts. 

I can’t think of him as dead. The last time I spoke to him was on a telephone. I was in a different city. I never heard from him. Calls to the number went un answered. I never thought that it would be our last conversation with each other, and I will never hear his voice again. He is lost to us.

DAILY PROMPT

Trace

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/trace/

None to Blame

When my late husband R’s  parents were alive, we took his yearly break to spend time with them. Meal times was a source of constant embarrassment for me. Our young children would need to go to the loo. Grandma didn’t like it. She blamed me for their indiscretions. You can’t tell toddlers that this wasn’t the time to announce what they needed to do when everybody was sitting having dinner. 

R had drilled it into me from day one of marriage, that no one was to blame except me if the children didn’t turn out alright. I was on tenterhooks about their grades, and manners, while the children were growing up. To make matters worse, I was sole parent most of the times. I had to be forever vigilant about everything. 

During once a year visits, daughter blames me when her kids throw a tantrum. “Mama, what kind of grand children have you produced?”

Tell me what did I do?

DAILY PROMPT

None

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/none/

Minimal

Today I discovered the minimal style of selecting three flowers, and a little greenery at three different heights in three different vases on a mirrored plate to create a minimal flowers arrangement. Cool, isn’t it?

At home in Peshawar (not here), I have acquired over a period of time, two (if I remember correctly) sets of three each different vases. I didn’t purchase them, but are gifts from friends. I never knew what to do with them, except to arrange them on a mantelpiece collecting dust. Whenever I go back the first two weeks are spent feverishly cleaning, washing the various knick knacks, and removing the clingy dust.

Maybe next time I am over there I will try the minimal flower arrangement. When dear husband was alive, I would ask his permission to cut a few of his beloved roses from the front garden of roses he created. I needed them for flower arrangement in the sitting area, or the dinning table. I was minimalist in my approach. I did it only when company was expected, or it was a special occasion.

In the beginning it was a total Nahna. He couldn’t stomach the idea. Gradually he relented to let me cut a few of them. Now the roses have vanished as he did too.

DAILY PROMPT

Minimal

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/minimal/

Murmuration 


In front of my home in Peshawar, my late husband made a garden of roses. The roses disappeared slowly since his death in August 2012. No one looked after them. Only the cluster of lofty, towering trees remain. Sparrows, doves, pigeons, crows, cuckoos and eagles have nests among the sheltering trees.

Early in the morning, before the sun rises, a cacophony of sounds emerge from the trees heralding another morning. There is a rise, and fall as hundreds of birds chatter incessantly for a brief period. 

Do you think it can be called murmuration?

DAILY PROMPT

Murmuration

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/murmuration/

Translate

My father had remarried— not to the girl, grandma had chosen, but to a widow with four children. Grandma got wind of it. There she was planning to get her niece wedded to father, and father had dashed all her hopes to the ground.

Unannounced she managed to reach Rawalpindi, where we lived,  from our ancestral home in the village. She rarely travelled, and the farthest she went from home was Charsadda. Father didn’t know where to hide from the fury of his mother, and he took refuge sitting in his car in the garage.

Stepmom spoke Urdu, and grandma could only talk in Pushto. Neither was making head, or tail of what they were telling each other. Unfortunately grandma espied me as I came out of my room searching for God knows what. She took hold of my hand, and almost dragged me to sit between the two foes. It looked like I had to translate whatever they were saying to each other.

Grandma was saying, “why did you get married to my son? Couldn’t you stay on your own?”

Stepmom said she was having problems, and needed a husband to take care of things. Grandma was asking why her son? Couldn’t she get someone else?

This went for a while, and grandma started cursing. Poor me! I was frightened, fearing they might come to blows. Grandma was intelligent enough to know that I wasn’t exactly translating what she was saying. The moment had come for me to make a dash for my room, and bolt it from inside.

I don’t know what happened later after I left them. Grandma departed in the evening –sad, and disappointed to her home.

DAILY PROMPT

Translate

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt. 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/translate/