Tag Archives: stairway

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.



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My short stairway here

Back home climbing the stairway was tiring. It was fifteen steps, a turn, seven steps, another turn and five steps more to the first floor. The rooms upstairs got neglected due to my avoidance of climbing the stairs.

It was (is) lovely. The railing was handmade from wood. It looked grand. My (late) husband R had let me choose the design for it. Every time I look at it, I fall in love with it all over again.

When our grandchild H was a baby, he would crawl on all fours to the head of stairs, when ever the door of his bedroom would be open by mistake. He would grab the railing to stand. To fill in the gaps between the wooden posts R made an intricate pattern of rope, so that H wouldn’t slip through and suffer an injury.

I have not removed the rope. It’s still there. I don’t have the heart to remove it although there is no need for it now.

Here my home has only a short set of stairs. The building is on a slope. I live on the first floor, but there are minimum steps to climb. It’s perfect for me — not tiring.

Daily prompt: Stairway

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