Tag Archives: Peshawar

Spicy


.

When I went to live in Charlottesville in February 2016, I became friends with my daughter’s friends. Nola had lived there for quite a while. She had a beautiful home in Crozet, which she sold this year. My late husband, and I visited her in this house in the summer of 2010.

When Nola had purchased the house, the basement wasn’t done. When she learnt that we would be coming, and would stay for a while, she quickly did up the basement for us. The basement had a bedroom, bathroom, a tiny kitchen, a giant size living area with a huge tv and a computer room. She had also installed a washer and dryer just for my use, so that for washing I didn’t have to climb upstairs. 

The patio doors opened to the outside area. She had even put two deck chairs on the patio for us to sit, and enjoy the marvelous view. She did all this to tempt her father into staying permanently. We went back home to Peshawar in September, and learnt that her father had stage four cancer. The next two years went in a blurry of sadness, and pain.

When I bought my own small place, I became friends with all her friends. They invited me to lunches and dinners. I invited them too to a lunch. One lady A who is a doctor, and teaches at University of Virginia arrived early before the other guests.  I had completed my other dishes, except for the rice. She is an Egyptian American. She watched with interest as to what I was adding to my rice. 

I like mildly spicy food. My main spices for adding to the rice were cumin, cloves and large cardamoms. It turned out that A boils her rice, and that was the only way she did hers. It was a revelation for her, when I sautéed the onions first, then added chicken pieces, spices,  chickpeas, rice and raisins. 

DAILY PROMPT

Spicy

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

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

Advertisements

Caper

Grandson H on graduation day (pencil marked)

The little boys capered on our front lawn. Grandson H who was four at the time was blissfully welcoming more inside the gates. We– late husband, and I, Son and his family had come to spend a night at our village home, and attend a wedding next day.

Cloistered in our Peshawar house, H never had so many boys to play with. H soon exhausted our supply of water bottles, juices and soft drinks. He was happily playing the host, not realizing there wasn’t any water left for us.

Along with the younger children, an older batch of eleven to fourteen had slipped inside. They attacked the fruit trees of apricots, peaches, leeches, loquats and the ground beneath was littered with leaves and fruit. Thankfully the watchman returned from his home, and shooed the unruly ones out, and saved the trees from further plundering.

In the evening H had to be persuaded to let his newfound friends go. He was all for his friends to spend the night with us.

DAILY PROMPT

Caper

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

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

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/

Buff

While living in Peshawar, I depended upon Son to send me footwear from here. Son’s and mine tastes differ. What he thought his mama would prefer, and what I liked weren’t the same. After initial disappointments, I looked up online, and would send him the requirement. That plan worked perfectly, except for a big snag.

We have extremes of weather in Peshawar. In Summers Mercury shoots up, and Winters are very cold. The vagaries of climate didn’t agree with my American shoes. They would disintegrate right in front of my eyes. Once the cold weather started, I would take out my various pairs to see whether they required any buffing. Sometimes one, or two of them would be gone beyond the need to polish, while some pairs would last another season.

DAILY PROMPT

Buff

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

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

Roots


I took a few leaves from the mint leaves we bought from World Food, and poked them into the soil of the pot I had in the balcony. Originally I had planted mint plants in the same pot. While I was in Peshawar, the poor things died of dehydration due to neglect. 

It was an experiment, whether roots would appear. They did! The leaves sprouted roots, and now the mint is slowly spreading. Son is fond of mint chutni with his food. Whereas he is happy, I as a mother feel happy.

What is it with mothers? When our children are unhappy, it seems the light goes out of our lives.

DAILY PROMPT

Roots

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

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

Tenacious 

I could see the growing patch on the wall near the ceiling of my bedroom in Peshawar. It looked unsightly, and rather ugly. It also meant that the occasional rain water was making its’ way in, and marring my wall.

I climbed to the roof to determine from where the rain water was sneaking its way inside. That’s when I saw a small plant flourishing on the roof top. It wasn’t exactly on my side of the house, but was on my tenent’s side of the house next door.

I walked over to it, and tried to pull it with my bare hands, but it wouldn’t budge. It’s roots clung tenaciously to the cement in the roof. Peshawar is a city where rainfall occurs in certain months like January, or July and rest of the year the weather is dry, and dusty. It hardly rains. 

I recognized the plant. It was a small peepal tree in the making. The small branches with large green leaves waved gaily in the wind in the early morning. It seemed to be smirking, telling me you can’t take me out

I called a mason to discover the leak in the roof on my side of the house. He pulled out the plant easily enough for me, but hasn’t been successful in finding out the leak, and cause of the growing patch on the wall.

DAILY PROMPT

Tenacious

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

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

My Purple Dress

The one I am writing about, I  haven’t got it with me here. It lies in a suitcase in Peshawar. This time when I was there, I wanted to search for it , but all the boxes, and suitcases are upstairs in the attic. Short of climbing the wooden stairway, I couldn’t get it. Another thing was, most of the time I forgot to go get it.

I didn’t have time on my side. Whenever I thought about it, I would be busy. I would tell myself I am in a hurry right now, I will look for it in the evening–  in the morning, and so on. It kept getting postponed. Mornings — I was short on time, and in the evenings I would be plain tired. The only thing appealing was getting to bed, and going to sleep.

I had to conquer two things. First thing was to climb the stairway, then secondly battle the layers of dust which had accumulated in the attic. In a second the hands would get grimy beyond recognition. Whose hands are they? Certainly not mine. But the evidence would stare me in the face. They were mine, attached to my body.

I would climb down to wash my hands. Meanwhile if a phone was ringing, or someone was banging at the outside door, it would get my attention. I would forget about lights on in the attic adding to the electricity bill. Once I forgot they could burn to eternity. I only remembered on my next voyage to the heaven above, and would gave a thump to my head, telling myself accusingly  you forgot

Maybe I retrieve it on my next trip to hometown, and wear it for the summer in 2018.

DAILY PROMPT

Purple

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

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