Tag Archives: Walima

Where Did it Land Me?

My two months stay was coming to an end, and I had to catch a flight from Islamabad. I refused the invitation to the wedding of a relative, but accepted the Walima invite on the third day of the wedding. It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have gone there, cause it was the last day before the flight which was early the next morning. I should have stayed back at home, and rested before the long journey ahead. The whole day was tiring, and I didn’t get any respite in resting my poor feet.

Traveling in economy class is sheer hell. You sit in a cramped position aggravated by the person sitting in front of you who tilt their chair into your face as soon as the plane gets into the air. With aching feet I got through the customs, and immigration counter, although the official mercy fully was really quick. The drawback was the multitude of passengers, and waiting in line was tough. At various moments I kept thinking I was going to drop to the floor with fatigue.

Next step was the location of finding the rest of my bags. Son was supposed to come for me, but when I phoned him there was no reply. It was then I found out that he was up in the air coming back from Austin. There were two options— waiting for Son to arrive, or take an Uber to get home. Son was arriving at Hobby airport while I had landed at Bush International. While I was trying to decide, Son sent me a message to stay put while he came to get me.

I waited inside a resting area, but when an employee told me she was locking up, I exited to the outer area. Half an hour later, I realized that when I was loading my other two bags on to the cart, I totally forgot my carryon in the baggage area. It had all my important stuff. In near panic, I rushed to the door from where I had exited a while ago. Since the door opened from the inside only, I decided to get through when the inside travelers were coming out.

An airport employee yelled at me to stop. She said I couldn’t do that, it was illegal. My dashing through the door would have the airport alarms ringing, and police would have come, and I could have been sent to jail. Thank God I escaped that fate. She thought I was up to no good, and was mad at me. I held my hand up in her face to stop her tirade, and told her to listen to me, explaining about my carryon. She relented, and told me to stop where I was, and wait for her to come back to me. It was the longest twenty minutes wait of my life. She took me inside through another door, and from behind a counter, without even knowing my name, she brought the carryon to me. Probably it was the only one there. You can’t believe how happy I was. Relieved beyond measure I thanked her, kissed her astonished face, and walked outside.


Son’s marriage happened rather un- expectedly. We were thinking it will be sometime in coming September. Whatever God Wills– it happens. So it was earlier. Son reached Peshawer, at three on the day his marriage was arranged. I had to arrange for everything in a hurry – the marriage itself, car decoration, the sweets to be distributed after the Nikah ceremony, and then the Walima itself which is a second day extension of the marriage celebrations.

The first day expenses were born by the bride’s parents, and second day’s expense was mine. Thankfully everything went smoothly. Both days the functions were held at daylight hours. The second day it was continuous rain.

Son extended his leave to spend time with his bride, whereas I returned to New Bedford alone, and promptly fell sick. Nola (daughter) arrived yesterday to take care of me, and showed me to the doctor, and got me the necessary medication. I’m leaving with Nola for Boston tomorrow Insha’Allah, and then onward to Dallas for a three weeks stay before coming back to New Bedford again.

This video doesn’t exist

The bride reaches the marriage hall in a Doli. Her brother (the boy in specs) is one of the carriers. Masha’Allah!


My daughter was getting married. While shopping for a couple of nail polishes to match the clothes I was going to wear, I came across a new kind of hairspray. It squirted colorful stars into the hair. Though it was costly, but was a must have, so I bought it.

Marriage functions are a three days affair — Mehndi, marriage ceremony that is Shadi and Walima. The first two functions are held by the girl’s parents, and Walima is by the boy’s parents. 

I never got to use my hairspray. We had guests staying at our home, who had come to attend the marriage ceremony. Who tried my hairspray? I found it empty on my dressing table. Someone tried it, and left it oozing out. Must have pressed it too much. 

I remember those three days being extremely tired by the festivities. I missed my daughter, realizing that her days with us were over, and she belonged to someone else now. After the marriage ceremony, when we came back  I started sobbing the minute we entered our home. My sis in law Z tried to console me, and told me not to cry, but to pray to God for my daughter’s happiness in her new life.

The first few months without my daughter were difficult to bear. She had been my constant companion, since her birth, and never been away from me for a single day. When she was home she would be dogging my footsteps. She was my baby. My late husband being wise cautioned me not to divulge my grief to her, so that she won’t feel burdened. Gradually I became used to living without her with us.

In her marriage video when her in laws are taking her away, my head dips down, and I start crying. It’s really strange but when that part is replayed I always get tears in my eyes even after so many years.



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



Wish you a Merry Christmas 

Sorry I was traveling, and with no internet I couldn’t write.

The above picture is of the Walima (the second day of the wedding) of Nola’s sister-in-law, which was held at Islamabad. We left in the evening for Lahore, missing the Mehndi  function of another wedding. 

We are going sight seeing in the morning, and will attend another wedding in the evening.

We are having our own festivities this season.



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


Old Memories

Buffalo Nickel
by Michelle W.
Dig through your couch cushions, your purse, or the floor of your car and look at the year printed on the first coin you find. What were you doing that year?

I looked through one purse. Shook out all the pockets — no coins. Took out another one. This one I use for traveling, since it’s big, and roomy, and has lots of pockets. No luck! I am not getting hold of any elusive coin. The coins have gone into hiding.

I had to answer the prompt, so I didn’t give up. Had to keep looking.

The third purse I took out is black in color. I found a coin. It’s a quarter of a dollar. Here it is, and the year is 1993.


In January 1993, I was here in the US. I visited my sister. She was in between houses. She had sold her previous one (was small), and the new one my brother-in-law had purchased was getting ready for them to move into. For a short duration, my sister, and her family were staying in a rented home.

I remember her sons were toddlers. She kept the house very warm. All I had were warm clothes for winter, so my skin was really sizzling in heat. On the quiet I would open windows to cool down her home. The other alternative was turning the thermostat down as soon as her back was turned.

Whereas my sister kept her home very warm, a cousin who at the time was living in Staten Island kept her home as cool as a morgue. My luck that I had to deal with two extremes.

At the end of February I returned home. It was the first time my husband, and I had remained away from each other. My husband, and son had kept each other company in my absence.

All the happy feelings of finally reaching home evaporated at the sight of dirty rooms. They hadn’t bothered at all with keeping things clean, and tidy. I was so annoyed with both of them.

Another remembrance is my younger uncle’s son getting married. It was in Islamabad since they lived there, but they held the Walima (reception after marriage) in the village.

In the summer my husband, and I went to Abbotabad. We visited our old friends in the area. We stayed in a Mess for the duration of our stay.

Rest of the year I don’t remember much, except it was happy, and peaceful.