Tag Archives: police

Days of Horror

Son, and I reached Peshawar on the nineteenth of November. Literally everything was covered with dust. I didn’t know where to start. Anyway first thing first was the kitchen. With Son in tow you have to think of food first. By evening I was grimy, and my bones ached with tiredness. Meanwhile Son, and wife rested the whole day, only surfacing briefly to eat.

Bad news hit us in the evening. My evil step brother in law Bashir together with his nephews Omer, and Bilal had told my chowkidar (watchman) in the village home to handover the keys of the house to them, and vacate the house, and land. Our next day started with waiting at the office of the DPO of police. We had to give them duplicate copies of deeds to our home, and land. We were directed to meet with the SHO of our area. It was already four in the evening.

We arrived with the police at our village home. Bashir was in the village attending a marriage. The police took him to the Thana (police station), while Omer, and Bilal had run into hiding. Midway to Peshawar, we were told to come to the Thana too.

We were made to sit with Bashir. He had retracted on his threats to our chowkidar. The police let him go. Tired, and hungry (we had been without food the whole day) we made our way back to Peshawar.

Since the death of Aziz (my late husband’s younger brother) in November 2017, Bashir, and his nephews had started harassing us over our property in the village. If you see my earlier posts of Nov 2017 you will understand the background. Since then I had redoubled my efforts to sell the property in the village, but to no avail. Bashir, and his cohorts would drive away the prospective buyers.

As if B, and Co weren’t enough of a headache, we fell into the land mafia snare. The land mafia has powerful lords of the area, and their thugs looked for people like us (meaning a widow, and her only son living out of country). They are land grabbers who basically try to get other people’s assets for free, and kill them on some pretext, or other. Soon we were getting threats from them too. The person was a local MNA (member of the National Assembly)

Our woes weren’t enough. Son got COVID from our tenants down below. The mother who was living with them died from COVID. The whole house was infected. Son had a near death experience. Meanwhile Coco (my daughter in law) got COVID too. I had to look after both of them. I wasn’t well myself . With lack of sleep from worry, and tension, I rapidly lost weight. I suffered from travelers diarrhea throughout my stay. I was washing hands every second, and continually wore a mask, but thankfully didn’t get COVID.

Nola ( my daughter) was frantic with worry on our behalf. Son had to take leave without pay. He had recovered from COVID, but Nola made him stay so that I wasn’t left alone sick, and facing the threats. Meanwhile B took a stay on our village property so that we would be unable to sell it. B has laid claim to our property. We had to engage a lawyer. It will take years to resolve the case. I have given power of attorney to another lawyer so that if the the case is resolved he can sell it.

We are back here, but don’t know what’s going to happen next????


Our home is a mess, littered with boxes, and there is hardly any space left to move around. Some items are left for the last day to pack, and my blood pressure shoots up at the thought whether we will be done with packing on the day we are leaving. 

There has been bad news one after the other. First one was about brother in law A dying. Son and I bought the tickets, and then we learnt that step brother in law B has taken over the houses, land, money left for Son (as A didn’t have children of his own). A in his last will left everything for Son to inherit. B has taken the papers, and everything. 

Son was upset over his step uncle’s behavior. We never expected this from B. Two nights before we were woken up from sleep by the banging on our front door. “Open the door”. It was midnight. Both of us were apprehensive as to who was there, and frightened at opening the door. It was the police. Son asked them to show themselves, so that he could ascertain via the peep hole as to whether they were actually the police. Son went to the balcony to look at their vehicle. He then opened the door to them.

The first question was, “Do you have a gun?” Son’s answer was no. They started questioning him. After answering their questions, Son asked them why had they come? Their answer was so droll. They said that someone had reported that Son was going to commit suicide (God forbid).  They weren’t telling us the person’s name. We were astonished at how can someone make up a lie like that? 

The police stayed for an hour. After they were satisfied with Son’s answers they left. Son found out on his own as to who sent the police. Son had written on his Facebook account to his friend S that he was under a lot of stress. Soon all his friends knew. S is currently in Australia. He told his brother, who is a doctor in Oregon, and he alerted the Texas police. We took the police coming in a good way that his friends were concerned about him, instead of the intrusion at midnight.



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Son, and I live in an apartment. It’s a huge complex, and in each building there are twelve apartments. Ours is a corner one on the ground floor. Son rented it, and moved to it when his ex filed for a divorce. Alone, he came after me to Charlottesville, and asked me to come, and live with him. He says, “If I hadn’t been there for him, he would have died”. It has been a traumatic experience for him.  

We have covered car parking. Son, and mine spaces are side by side. On the left side of my car is our upper story neighbor T’s car. We chat together when we see each other at the car parking. We have never been to each other apartments. We laugh, and exchange a few words, then she goes her way, and I mine.

Same is the case with the neighbors who live directly over us. We exchange pleasantries when we cross each other, they are going out, and I’m coming in, or vice versa. The top floor neighbor is a police officer. He, and his family come and go at hours at which we never really see them. We only come to know that they are there by their cars, and when their cars are not there it means they have left.

Son is on greeting terms with the rest of them, where as I haven’t been face to face with any of them. So this is our neighborhood. We don’t know how much longer we’re staying here. I normally get attached to places where I stay, and I know I will be sad upon leaving.



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I have been solitary since morning. When I got up for morning prayers at five, saw that Son had already left for his job. When I came to the kitchen to make breakfast for myself, I found that there were no used plate, or cup in the sink. This meant Son forego his breakfast, and left without eating anything.

At twelve I got the call from him, saying he had finished early and could I make him a paratha, and omelette? Of course I could. 


He is now getting ready to go to the mosque for the Zuhr prayer. He has told me there is a heavy contingent of police outside the mosque. Till Son comes home I will be worried. I can only say, “We are God’s beings, and to Him we return”.

Trump shows his concerns about the unfortunate, and sad happening in Barcelona, but he is totally unconcerned about what is happening right under his nose. He fans hatred with tweets, pouring on the flames to ignite them further.



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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.