Tag Archives: grandma


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.



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IB zipping through the air

What I relish most is having my grandsons Sn, and IB visiting us on a weekend. Yesterday Sn had gone in the early hours to school for debates. IB asked his father to take him to the park for Zipline. Since his father had some office work to do, it was decided that we will go after lunch, and Zuhr prayers. 

IB had been telling me about zipping, but seeing it first hand was much better. It was a favorite with the children who had come with their mothers, fathers, or friends. There was a continuous line for taking turns at it. IB is a sweet person. He tired himself with helping other children, running to hold the line for them, or helping them to dismount.

Seeing another lady, and a dad with a child in his arms enjoying the zipping, I tried it too. I had dire warnings from my son that I might break my bones, and the operation will cost me fifty thousand dollars. I discarded his predictions, but I had a bump at the end line, and managed not to fall off.

 Actually the Zipline has been hung closer to the ground, keeping in mind small children. The management of the park didn’t know that parents, or a grandma will have a go at it too.




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My Sis

I made a cartoon on my previous blog and I was worried. You will ask why? Simply because my sister is a stickler for truth. She will be at you like a dog gnaws at a bone, if she notices a slight discrepancy in what you say or do.

That cartoon was based on a friend, who visited after a gap of eight years.

My sister and I discovered each other later in life. She was away living with grandma. When she joined us (father and the other siblings) Baba (our father) passed away. We were together at uncle’s house, but I was busy with exams and got married soon after I finished.

We took baby steps towards each other in the ensuing years. I can say that now we are friends. We got to know each other. Unlike me, she dresses beautifully. She looks immaculate even after a twenty-four hours long flight. I wonder how she does it? In comparison, I look like a scarecrow. She cooks like a dream. Her house remains tip top. Sadly, she suffers from Parkinson’s disease, and is heroically battling it.