Tag Archives: PMA

A Few Words

Connect the Dots
Open your nearest book to page 82. Take the third full sentence on the page, and work it into a post somehow.



This was the third sentence on page 82:
Only the haunting knowledge that her time was running out gave her the drive necessary to get up ……….. the sentence goes on.

The woman in this story was suffering from cancer. Her daughter goes on a cruise, and she is missing. There are others like her, who have gone missing too. They are presumed dead by the police. Through the efforts of a lawyer turned psychologist the killer is apprehended, though she barely escape death at the hands of the killer.

The sentence reminded me of my (late) husband R’s battle with cancer.

I could feel R’s hurt at those people, who were always in, and out of our home at all hours, and when we needed their presence in our world (turned topsy, turvy by sickness), they opted out. They weren’t there for us.

One such couple was a nephew, and his wife. We wouldn’t have felt it, if they were in a different city. They avoided contact with us even through phone calls.

Cancer is not a viral disease, which a person will catch through a contact.

Then another close relation, who could visit us, went into total oblivion. Once we badly needed a driver (for two, three hours) to drive us to Shafa in Islamabad from Pindi. We had taken accommodation in Pindi, to get treatment, once R was diagnosed with cancer.

Our own driver had gone on a three days leave, and a week had gone by, and he hadn’t returned. In desperation I called the relation, reaching them with difficulty. He could have easily sent his driver, but he didn’t. Meanwhile our errant driver came back finally. He got a thorough scolding from a very sick R.

Many stayed away with never a phone call even. There were other sweet people (they were not friends or relatives), and among them R’s PMA Course mates, who used to visit regularly. With their visiting, they would take off my husband’s mind from his illness.

A short visit, so as not to tire the patient, and a few words of comfort, that’s all one needs.


Tale of a Stepmom

Daily Prompt: Not Lemonade
When life gives you lemons … make something else. Tell us about a time you used an object or resolved a tricky situation in an orthodox way.

During childhood, I identified with stories of Cinderella, and Snow White. It wasn’t because of the fairy tale endings, but there was a step mother in the stories.

Our step mother brought with her, four kids from her first husband, when she married our (widower) father of five children. Our eldest brother was at PMA, Kakul, so that left us four at home.
With the addition of four other kids, we numbered eight.

A year later our step brother was born. We were thus nine children living in one house. With the addition of our baby brother, our step mother started showing her true colors.

Our father got a new job in another city. Meanwhile we were left at the mercies of our step mother.

Barely fifteen days later, step mom began her daily beatings of my youngest brother Salim. At first we thought Salim must have done something to irk or annoy her, but one day it went overboard.

One evening, while he was eating his food, she got up and start hitting at his head. My other brother Sher (three years younger to me), and I stood in front of her to save Salim from her blows. We got hit too. We were too innocent to hold her hands, or something like that. She wasn’t stopping.

Sher in desperation, rushed outside, and brought a neighbor with him. Seeing him, our step mother left her beatings. She told him her tales of the brats misbehaving with her.

The neighbor quietly told her, if she didn’t stop her daily ritual of beatings, and if he heard any of us crying, he was going to call the police.

Next day while we were at school, our step mother left with her own kids to join father. God knows what she must have told father (about us) when she left us alone at home.

Three months later, father had a heart attack. She didn’t accompany father’s body for burial at our ancestral village. I never saw her again.

She wanted us out of father’s life, and in the end we became fatherless too.


Only Two Rings

Daily Prompt: Finders, Keepers?
While walking on a beach you stumble on a valuable object buried in the sand — say, a piece of jewelry or an envelope full of cash. What do you do it?
Under what circumstances would you keep it?

Photo Credit: Google

While walking on a beach, I have never found any cash or jewelry. I did find two rings and some cash else where. I found one ring at a party. The second ring was lying on the floor in my bedroom.

One of my friends RB had given a party. She was celebrating the passing out of her eldest son from PMA. All the invitees were gathered on the terrace of her home.

Near my foot I saw something sparking. Bending, I picked it up. It was a gold ring studded with rubies. I sought out RB, and give her the ring. She then made an announcement. One woman claimed it. To be on the safe side RB asked for the description of the ring before handing it over.

It was Eid day. Many friends and relatives had come to our home, to wish us “happy Eid”. After the last guest left, I went to my bedroom. I found a beautiful diamond ring at the foot of my bed.

Only two among the guests had used my bathroom. I dialed one of them first. It turned out to be her ring. She was over joyed that I had found her precious ring.

The cash was lying on my bed. I was wondering at how so much money had reached my bed. Our guests were still in our home. A child had been playing with his mother’s purse, and had left it on the bed.

It never came to my mind to keep the money or rings. My conscience wouldn’t have rested in peace.

Only Two Rings