Assalam o alaikum auntie/nana. How are you?

This is my very first piece of writing that I'm sending to you & I hope you will like it. Do tell me if it has any flaws in it! It's a fictional story by me, which is still incomplete & under procession & somewhere, it belongs to 'me'. I have to finish it within two months & I know I can do it! Do tell me, if it requires any amendment. :)

A TRIP DOWN THE MEMORY LANE

Everybody has a reason, when he or she is about to narrate any story & I don’t. Everybody is inspired by the people around them or either a non-living object. I’m inspired by within. For me, the word ‘I’ has always been of great importance & interest, to which the reason is not only I, but particularly the happenings & atmosphere in which I was raised up. My grandmother named me ‘Henna’ after her late sister. Thinking of this name always gives me the idea of mehndi painted hands, with gajraas (garlands of Motia) wrapped around. Such hands smell best-A symbol of being an Eastern bride! Now I’m sitting by the shore, nursing my eyes through a blissful sight. Waves continuously touching my feet. Such a good feeling they generate in severe summers. How proudly they are pacing towards me, rising & lowering, displaying considerable advancement, but why are they lowering themselves, as if bowing me out of respect or the fact that they are scared of me? The very thought of ‘haunting’ someone suffuses me with childishness. I remember the times how I used to collect sea-shells, colorful stones, shiny unusual objects & molluscs from pebbly stones & sand. I also used to build castles of sand, without any sort of shovel, spade, bucket or outliners; in fact I was unaware of these conveniences. Now I’m observing the sunrise, at the same time thinking of the old memories that are compelling me to keep thinking of them, with arms wide opened in a welcoming gesture. At the same beach, I & my brother Hussein used to come once a month, along with ammi & abbu on our old Yamaha-70, which was my very first favorite ride. We were never rich, neither so poor, but middle classed. Generally the stories of either rich or poor attain recognition , as rich ones can brag about their possessions & lavish lifestyle, while poor gain the sympathy by the talk of their worth pitying existence & often modest way of living. Middle classed people have hardly anything to make known, but I think that this form of Pakistani society has always been fair enough. My eyes have begun to glitter, as this mounting sun is memorizing me of my childhood Some lovely kids over there are building world’s most beautiful home, out of sand, very similar to that of mine…my very first memory, where I learnt to walk & uttered my initial words! Who resides there at present, I don’t know, neither I want to, as I’m too glad to vacate that house…such an awful memory it is! I wasted seven years of my life in that home... I just can’t make believe!!! The entrance led to a narrow small yard with a small bathroom, & lavatory, next to the kitchen. Might they both be separated during construction? Yard was fairly in a good condition, with a charpoy lying with the wall, which separated our home with the neighbors’. Lying on the charpoy, one could view the custard apple tree just a few inches above his head, which was planted in our neighbors’ yard, whose over grown branches benefited us too! I

She not only managed her house. She had majored in Political Sciences.. ammi always took great care of it & made it look like a heaven of our shack. it really pains! He should have smacked us in face or at least told us of manners…but he never did! When we grew up. like a daughter. but it has some space in it. neither his duty was to guide me. while Abbu was a Bachelor of Arts. Ammi took great interest in our bringing up & remained a father to us. As well as I remember.loved to pluck its fruits. Though I even remember the very first sight of mine. The kitchen was not at all tiled or expanded. never!!! .wept so hard that the tears resulted into a tiny pool of water over the shimmering floor. so they came to me & hugged me the way they did Hussein…I was so happy! Today when I think of the past years of my life. a double bed. like a fairy from imaginary stories. I put on a serious face & left from there. No cabinets. she had no flaws in her character. a deep trunk.. with a small Luminar television. poor cemented base with rats peeping out of the corner & lizards crawling on the walls. round faced. Whenever I was in need. The yard led to small three poor conditioned rooms. I and Hussein used to play with him as if he was our pet. my inspiration was a woman of her words. an year younger than me. & used to have it all by myself…never wanting to share with anybody! The taste is still lingering into my mouth. I wish I could go back to the past & fix as many things as possible. As far as I remember. like a friend. but now its too late. neither he took any interest in the schooling of his kids. but also job.. grown every summer. he didn’t care. So contrary was his nature to that of Ammi! Why they even got wedded…God knows! From his side. ceiling & often on the kitchen floor.as if he was never my father. My present is a thousand times better. not so comfortable but a nice thing to nap on. neither had it too much stuff stored in it. gifted to ammi as Jahez & a pair of drawers with an ugly dressing table…I’m never going to miss that house. stuffy & adorable unlike me. with a twist in the tale . he let it go…why he was so? It pains. The boy was sweet. placed on a cherry colored stand having crossed legs. he had no control over any of us that his eyes often complained of. things were the same.. there always remained something missing…I hardly remember any advice of him. straight to the kitchen. Abbu never acted like a father. The couple was my mother & father & the boy was Hussein. dwarf -sized fridge which hardly delivered any cooling. and whenever one of us harmed him or intended to do so. which I have not yet been able to fill. no fan. walls unpainted. he never scolded me when I did wrong. Perhaps they overheard me crying. she supported me with the bottom of her heart. when I happened to pass by a couple who was teasing & frolicking with their baby-boy. Ammi. I wonder whether I deserve the past or present. Whenever I got bad grades at school or college.

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