Tag Archives: village


Maybe I’m prejudiced, but I’ve stopped believing that good people (saintly) exist.

Maybe they are there, but I haven’t come across them.

I feel I’m in a quagmire with the death of my brother in law. I feel I’m orphaned once again. Someone has pulled the covering from my head, and left it bare.

My step brother in law, his wife and his demised brother’s two sons are trying to grab my home, and land in the village. They tell me that it’s not mine. Their treacherous, and ignomious behavior is terribly upsetting.

At the moment it’s in my possession, but the minute I’m gone from here they ‘re likely to do their mischief. The administration in Charsadda has assured me it won’t happen, but I won’t be here. 

I’m wondering at extending my stay, and actively looking for buyers. No one has come forward. For the villagers it’s fun watching the live drama in their midst. A widow (that’s me) on one side, and the the land grabbing mafia consisting of dear step brother, his wife, and two sons of his brother.

I just wonder with which face they face Allah now. Have they forgotten the Hereafter? We all are going to meet our Creator one day, or they think with their prayers on one side they will brazen it out.



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While returning to our city home after a few days stay in the village, my late husband R would stop at the Bakshipul Kabab shop on the way to Peshawar. There was a huge rush on this shop while there were few customers at the other shops in the vicinity selling kababs.

My only contention with dear husband was to buy less rather than more which he was prone to do. He would buy enough kababs which could last for an army. I like fresh food. I don’t like storing in the freezer. The fresh ones tasted much better. I disliked them when taken from the freezer to be heated, and served. It created a mess in the frying pan. They wouldn’t remain whole, and if I heated them in the microwave they tended to be dry.

One other thing which I didn’t like was the shop bought kababs had too many eggs added to the meat. It was like eating eggs not meat.

A time came when R stopped buying. Why? A new highway got built which was a shorter, and swifter route to the village. We stopped using the old motorway, and having kababs from that place became a thing of the past.



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The Lemon Trees

There are two —no make that three lemon trees in the village home. One sprouts huge lemons every year, but they are few in number. Probably their large size exhausts the poor tree. It gives birth to a lesser number. The other two are laden with lemons. When they are still green, they are partly hidden with green leaves. When they ripen, and get yellow in color, the two trees are a lovely sight to behold. 

I first have a look when I open the bedroom windows, and see them laden with lemons. I think of lemon preserves, and drinks. I mentally remind myself to find time to pluck them, but time is the one thing I never have. 

I am busy with cleaning the house which remains close due to my absence from home country. Believe me when I say there is ton of dust covering each, and everything, and it saps my energy to zero while I am busy cleaning. At the end of the day dust clings to my hair, face and clothes. I can even taste it in my mouth despite swishing water into it before drinking. I’m bone weary as evening approaches.

When I’m about to step into the car for departure, I remember the lemons. I ask the watchman to get them. In a span of fifteen minutes he plucks some for me to take along. I tell myself maybe I will have more time. 

By the time I manage another visit — the lemons are gone, and the trees are bare. The watchman has harvested the trees for himself.



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I was in my bedroom in the village making up my bed for the night. I had just collected two blankets, sheets and pillow covers when the lights went out. I had forgotten the load shedding.

My son, and I had come to our village home, and we were spending the night there. The whole day had been busy with visiting our relatives, we got to our home only half an hour ago. From past experiences I knew the lights were not going to come on again. I had forgotten to bring the battery lights with us.

I blindly walked into the lounge, feeling the way with my hands extended in front of me, so as not to run into the furniture. I was taking slow steps into the darkness, so as not to hit anything in my way. I reached the kitchen, and searched the pantry shelf for a candle. Luckily I got hold of a slightly wilted one. 

Next step was finding a match box. I kept the spare matches in my old cooking range. It had a small compartment where I kept certain things. Why there? I had found out that matches kept in the cupboard in the kitchen got soggy due to the house being closed, and they remained dry in the cooking range. I lit up the candle, and put it in a holder. I lit up another one for Son, and took it to his bedroom. He was patiently waiting for a light.

My apprehension about the electricity was correct. It didn’t come, and we spent the night without it. I managed to heat the food on gas, but there was no hot water. When I reach our village home I turn on the electric water heaters in the kitchen, and bathrooms. That day I had forgotten that too, and we had only ice cold water to wash with.

Life without basic amenities is certainly dreadful in the village. In winters it is very cold, and summers are hot. Our house in the village was built twenty eight years ago, but we have spent little time there. When my late husband was alive, we took trips to the village when someone had died, someone was getting married, or a feast was happening. 

I’m trying to sell the house, and the surrounding lands, but has yet to find a decent buyer. For what’s it worth, no one is giving me that price. Last year I spent a huge amount in renovations on the outside. I have to pay tax, electricity bills, and monthly pay to the watchman. The village home has become a burden for me.



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I’m happy to get an invitation to a party, wedding or a get together. The day arrives, my enthusiasm has worn off, and on the actual day I wish I didn’t have to attend the event. Once I actually forgot an invite, and realized it a day later on. To take care that doesn’t happen again I post a reminder to myself.

Yesterday my late husband’s first cousin came. Her son is getting married. She wanted me to attend the three days activities. Just thinking of three days festivities felt tiring, so I said yes to one day only, and that is the day of the wedding. 

It’s cold, and with no electricity, or gas, it’s simply hell staying in our village. After spending two days, and nights at my village home, I am back in Peshawar. It feels like heaven to have heating. In the village with no electricity the water was simply freezing. The bed was ice cold, and even changing to wear pajamas to bed was a chore I dreaded. Trying to get my back warmed up I would lie straight all night, but it didn’t help.

The wedding is on Saturday. Thinking of spending a night in the village home looks like a nightmare in this cold, and rainy weather. 



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Back in my home country I had an unending struggle against weeds. I could never eradicate them. The lawn in my city home was small and manageable. It could be kept in check.

The huge lawns in the village home were in miserable state. Weeds ran rampant there. My late husband and I spent little time there. Whoever we kept in charge never did his job properly and was (is) a source of constant irritation. 

Whenever we were there I tried to find time in tackling the weeds. I would tire myself outright. Next time when we would go, I would find my previous efforts had gone down the drain. Despite my backache I never gave up, and never will.

When I reach my village home, and after throwing open windows and doors, I start pulling the weeds out. In the village, I spend more time outdoors than indoors. Women relatives of my husband usually come to visit me once they know that I have come. While they keep me company I keep up the attack on my enemy number one. 




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Misplaced Keys

My (late) husband R and I were off to the village home for a night stay. Our village home remained close most of the time, cause we lived in our city home. When we planned to stay, I would cook beforehand the food we needed. That way I only had to reheat. I had more time to clean the house, which accumulated dust like a magnet behind closed doors and windows.

Food and other items of necessity had already been loaded into the car. R was impatiently waiting for me to lock the front door, so that we could leave.

When R was alive, I never carried my set of keys, since his were readily available. It was a source of irritation for him. The thing was:  I was fond of matching purses with my clothes. I could never remember which purse had the keys. At the last moment to search for keys was a waste of time. I would ask for his keys, lock the door, and give him back the keys.

As I came out, one of the kids followed me, to see us off. We eased out of the driveway, and finally we were on our way.

We reached the village in good time. R parked the car, and asked for the keys. I told him that I didn’t have them, and he must have misplaced them. He said, “You didn’t give them back”.

No keys— No entry.

We turned back to Peshawar.

We were back, and the keys were hanging in the lock on the front door. When our child had come out after me, I forgot to take out the keys from the door. The child went back inside, and closed the door without glancing at the hanging keys outside.




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Where I Am

I am sitting in my late husband’s village and looking after the renovation of my village home. There is no internet. I was hopeful that the village property which is worth quite a lot will sell. The person who was initially interested led me to assume that he will pay me in time. He was going to pay me less than half of what it’s worth. Now he told me that he will pay me half the money and the rest after six months. In return he wanted me to hand over the front plot of land which is commercial area and is of greater value. 

I didn’t try to contact other buyers, and now it will be a wise decision to wait till I return to my homeland. But now I am in a fix as how to have a roof over my head in my adopted land. Thanks to a devious buyer!

I will be posting when I come back to Peshawar and look up what other bloggers are posting.


No Time For It

I have to take care of today, which what really matters. I don’t live in the past, and I don’t have time to ponder over my childhood. Please bear in mind that the novelty of a prompt is no longer there when repeated all over again. I need a home to return to Houston. I am racking my brain to raise money to get one.

I am trying to sell the village property which my late husband gifted to me in lieu of marriage. I know what it’s worth, but people think I maybe a dimwit, or think being desperate, I will accept a low, laughable offer.

It’s just like in Galveston TX. Outsiders who visit the place, fall in love with it and buy a spot. When they need to leave — no one comes forward, and in the end it has to be left like that.


Childhood Revisited

What is your earliest memory? Describe it in detail, and tell us why you think that experience was the one to stick with you.


My Mentor


My mentor has always been God, and the book He gave us —- Quran. I am lucky I found Him at an early age. In moments of stress, ill-health, calamity, I find solace by turning to God.

I strive to better myself at my failings, and one of those were I couldn’t forgive my two paternal uncles, and my aunt (who was my mother’s younger sister). They ill treated my younger brothers. I just didn’t have it in my heart to forgive them till a few days back.

The last time I visited my parent’s grave yard was when my husband R was alive in 2011. We were on our way to R’s ancestral village. R stopped the car on the roadside. I got down to visit my parents, and younger brother in their last abodes. 

I stayed away from both of my uncles’ graves. My aunt died in 2013. She is now buried in the same place. After her death her son sent the body back from New York. 

God forgives us our blunders, and our sins, so I realized I should let go of my ill feelings, and resentment for my these relatives. I feel relieved that I finally let go my feelings of anger.


Mentor Me

Have you ever had a mentor? What was the greatest lesson you learned from him or her?