I CAN’T remember a moment when my parents weren’t there for me. Nor can I remember a time when they fought with each other in front of their kids. All I remember about my childhood is the love that my parents bestowed on me and my three siblings. Whenever we misbehaved or got into a squabble, Ami and Abu (mom and dad) reacted in a patient manner. Not that we never got our share of punishment; even in their punishment one could trace love and affection. It was an intelligent way to turn us into better human beings. Now that I’m nearly 30 years old, I realize how my parents taught us many a thing.
When I was an adolescent, I used to think my parents were old-fashioned. We weren’t allowed to stay out late with friends — concerts and parties were completely out of the question. I can’t deny the fact that I wanted to run away or go and live with people who would allow me to go to a Vital Signs concert. Also, hailing from a middle class family, expensive gifts were meant for only special occasions.
Dinner at a five-star hotel for a family of six was a biannual event. I don’t recall much of that time. All I remember is we had to study a lot, do our homework and look forward to the weekend. It’s been 15 years, and the habit hasn’t changed.
Pocket money and summer vacations were two things I loved about school. I used to have ample pocket money to buy a pack of potato chips, a bottle of soft drink, and would still have some money left in my pocket. A bottle of soft drink would cost about Rs3.50. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t belong to the ‘60s. I’m referring to the ‘80s.
If a birthday or Eid was around the corner, my sister and I would share one bottle of soft drink and save the rest of the money to buy a gift. Ami never wanted us to be stingy. Instead, she, in her way, made us realize the value of money and sharing things among siblings.
When I turned 18, I thought that every suggestion that my parents came up with was incorrect, inappropriate and totally useless. I don’t feel ashamed in admitting that if I had followed those suggestions, I might have committed fewer mistakes in life than I actually did. My parents were experienced individuals. They had seen many shades of life. They must have had their share of mistakes too. And in order for me not to commit those mistakes, they would come up with many an advice and suggestion. But being a stubborn and headstrong person (I am still like that), I did not pay heed to their words and eventually suffered.
Like every other Pakistani girl, I got married when I was barely 21 years old. Suddenly the thought of leaving my safe haven where I had lived for 21 years seemed like a nightmare. I could not imagine leaving my parents. I could not imagine not meeting them every morning and not eating the biryani that Ami used to cook for us every Sunday.
My sister got married 18 months before me and moved to New York. How she adjusted to those surroundings is still a mystery to me. Prior to tying the nuptial knot many questions began to pester me. “What if I, an immature and idiotic girl, made a mistake? Who would help and correct me?”
One of my college friends got divorced within a year of her marriage and another one was nursing a broken engagement. These facts also troubled me to a great extent. At that moment, I could have given anything to go back in time, go back to my childhood when my father took us to the Jheel Park, when the only thing that occupied my mind was how to pass the exams at the end of the academic term. Even though I disliked my younger sister, the thought of not having her around to fight with filled me with a sad feeling. I was going to a new home, and this closeness that I shared with my sisters and parents would now be a thing of the past.
The day came when I got shifted to a new house, met my husband and started a new life, without the safety net that we call parents. Life moved on and I adjusted to my new home. True, I couldn’t meet my parents everyday, but being in the same city I could call them and talk to them. On Saturdays, when I would visit my mother’s place, I would be satisfied to see my things just the way I had left them. A few novels, the birthday cards that I received over the years, all would be placed on my desk, just the way I had left them. Even after seven years of marriage, it’s a bitter-sweet experience to see my school and college things in my old room. It tells me about what a long way I have travelled and how many people I befriended and lost on the way. It also tells me about the many things for which I have to be grateful.
The second great joy for me was the arrival of my daughter. And life looked so much more beautiful and bright after she came into our lives.
When I was young, we never spent our summer vacations in a foreign country. Boutique clothes and eating at expensive places was a rarity. My parents didn’t have the required money for such things. What they did have was time and patience for us. They provided us with the best possible childhood anyone could ask for. And because of their inordinate love, I want to be with them, spend time with them and help them as much as I can.
Childhood is a gift that God gives to every human being on this earth. It’s true not everyone can enjoy early life as I did. But it would be hard to dispute that our children do what we teach them.
I CAN’T remember a moment when my parents weren’t there for me. Nor can I remember a time when they fought with each other in front of their kids. All I remember about my childhood is the love that my parents bestowed on me and my three siblings. Whenever we misbehaved or got into a squabble, Ami and Abu (mom and dad) reacted in a patient manner. Not that we never got our share of punishment; even in their punishment one could trace love and affection. It was an intelligent way to turn us into better human beings. Now that I’m nearly 30 years old, I realize how my parents taught us many a thing.
