Grandson H

Yesterday the twelfth of May was H’s graduation day. Son had mentioned that probably it was virtual. My sciatica had returned with full vengeance. I was lying in bed, my left leg propped on a pillow, surrounded by the remnants of a boho woolen bag being stitched together, when Son told me that we had to leave.

H had sent virtual tickets for Son, and I to attend his graduation ceremony. Son had incorrectly assumed that the ceremony was virtual. I got ready in record time. Thankfully we reached the University of Houston half an hour earlier.

The place was overcrowded with parents, grandparents, and relatives. The parking area designated for visitors was on the roof of the parking building. There was no lift to get down. I told Son there was no way I was climbing those stairs once the ceremony was over.

We made it inside, but nearly every seat was taken. Finally we espied two seats together, and sat down after bumping the occupants of other seats, mumbling sorry while getting to the said seats.

Son, and I mutually agreed that I was going to take photos, while he concentrated on videos. The first problem was locating H in the sea of faces. We were on the left side of the platform, and luckily had the frontal view of each student. I can only say Allah is kind. What could I have done if it was a back view. Nothing I suppose!

I got a plethora of shots, nothing spectacular but I’m thankful for the ones I took. They are memories down the years.


Yesterday there were errands to be run. Son’s first stop was the bank. He checked out some money. After that we went to Kohl. My daughter in law needed something. While both of us went inside, Son was looking after his three months old daughter outside. He strolled a bit away from the car for a few moments.

At that time a thief broke the driver’s side window, and stole the money. Son had put the money in the divider between the two car seats. The thief had followed us from the bank. Son remembered the white car. He had seen it at the bank, and while we were getting out of our car, it came, and parked right next to us. He didn’t pay any attention to it, not knowing that in the next few minutes he was going to be robbed.

Afterwards the police came. They said that a lot of robberies like this were happening. Their advice was that whenever you withdraw money from the bank, head home first, not towards the Mall. You never know who is watching.

Shadows on the Wall

There are shadows on the wall

Whom no one can see

Except for me

They frighten me at times

With their’s scary faces

But there are other times

When they smile down at me

(Sheen-Jan 2022)

I wrote this poem because of my grand daughter Maryam. She, and her mom made the family room their bedroom, as her mom couldn’t climb the stairs, because of her c section. They have now moved upstairs.

It was strange that at night time the child would look to the left side of the room, and start crying. When she looked to the right, she would smile. I have yet to ask someone knowledgeable as to what this means? Are there some unseen presences which only a child can see?

For the duration of their stay downstairs I switched on the recitation of Quran through day, and night. It helped somewhat, but now the mother is having daily nightmares.

Please feel free to express your views

The Difference

My sister sent me this video. It’s funny illustrating the difference between an American Mom, and Pusthun Mom.

I used to be niggardly with praise, believing that too much praise spoil a child. He, or she starts thinking highly of themselves. One has to be just right, not very lavish, or at the opposite end — stingy.

Children who are not praised ends up with little self esteem. They may be the most brilliant among their lot, lose confidence in themselves, and grow up to be timid. At the other hand mothers who see nothing wrong in their brats’s behavior contributes towards their offensive attitudes.

Life of Sheen

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