As I stepped into the house, the vibrant feelings fizz out of my think tank. I am more of a traditional modest kid, that every parent needed, never forked into anything out of my dad's order.
Nor we fought, not we had a heat exchange. Instead, I acted the way they pulled the strings of my motions and emotions. Clearing out everyone's doubts about this odd relationship, it's pretty strange I never called my father "Papa", and I never called my brother "Bro".
There is a veranda and the base of it is made of clay rather than concrete, and we circle to eat our food. The foods are only served at a fixed time, for example: - Breakfast given from 8 to 8:30 am, lunch from 3 to 5 pm, and our eating ends with dinner, which is from 7 to 10 pm. If you are late, you better starve.
When my mother was alive, she cooked every flavorful dish she used to know about, and often she experimented with fish curry and some papaya. It has both the taste of a sweet and a spicy one, and we four used to finish it quickly and crave more.
A year before my mother's demise, my dad married Elibiza Khatoum, a distant relative of my mom. I must admit she neither has looks nor has she got the manner of affection.
Simply a crow perched on our nest and stole our happiness and love.
Explaining her trait would be the degradation of my journal, as she is worthless.
She made daily this stew which often is full of salts or rather spicy which is venomous for the health. To bear the trying, I carry a packet of juice secretly, which costs 20 bucks and sip it with straws.
Ugh, the relief it was after one sip. Surely the sweetness flavor galvanizes any unpleasant odors.
After the meal, I headed into my room, and do wudhu for Asr Prayer. Prayers must be offered, and it's offered 5 times a day; I place the matt in a row, so every male member stands together. Then with my sweet broad voice call for prayer by Adhan.
As we were packed and tied, I recited my surah, and we were done by 20 minutes approximately. Then I've got to play with the twins. Their favorite one was the horse ride, where I resembled the way, a horse moves with two hands and two legs. Then they sat on my back, and I swarm around the veranda.
They won't be done with 10 minutes ride, but it goes on till dusk when their evil mom picks them up for studies.
I feel clumsy and lay on my bed, then a goodwill angel comes on my nerve to signal a question, "What to do? "
A restless feeling began, and I pull off a dream and scribble a few words or more on the mind map. I recite them back by chuckling.
Hoping that nobody hears what I am saying, and I am pretty good with rhymes, as I closed my eyes and vision a scene.
I closed off my eyes and vision a poor woman suffering from the loss of a child, poverty, and heavy debt burdens.
So, the rhyme starts like this: -
Yo Attention Please
Maam, excuse me
Everybody please listens to me
Teachers barking at ease
A mother does the math for the first time, waiting for her son to be released
Police got to turn a paper and a pen into killing machines
Never got the chance to taste these happy feelings
Always mustered with bad influences
All I do this only for medicines
Yo It's black life Nothing is safe
You better slide your nose into the proposition
Similarly, rich and poor breathe differently even though both of them live in the same lane
As I walk, this boulevard police, stumble me into jail for no reason
White people just hog our eyes
Because of our mistakes, we have to carry white flour as a mass
Streets full of thugs
Make the white douche covered with rags
We breathe on drugs
Easy to satisfy us than a pug
Yo, It's black life. Nothing is safe
You better slide your nose into the proposition
I got an idea of how to rhyme. A feeling of inner peace arouses in my mind, as one task was accomplished.
After a while, it's been dumped into a trash rest. Tasks are far from realities.
Our dad arrives at 7 pm. Later that period, a lot of restrictions were imposed upon me.
I got nothing to do. My room has a stainless-steel rusty wardrobe, inside of it none are special clothes, which are Punjabi, and pajama.
The colors were not fancy, i.e., white, off-white, olive, or green.
None are a favorite of mine and make my closet more boring to observe.
A dimly light tone dispersed out of an oblong, luminous tube makes the room even duller, and not livable.
A room is never complete without a bed, which I share with my elder brothers, but they are not here, as both fled abroad for opportunities.
A portion of their remittances extensively helps me to live, such as for comfortable sleep. I added a few cycle tires so that it's bouncy.
Then I lay over it my bedsheet, which was used by my mom. During her tenures, it keeps me reminiscing, and how she cared about me.
If glanced at the bedsheet, you will understand she had class, and a nice fashion sense, in fact, an impressive one.
The design of it had two peacocks with crowns and a rose, in between them a marvelous work by the artist.
Surely the creator of it lives in a cool head. It gives me the essence of a peaceful world and unity.
Then I put a cushion picking it up from the sofa in my room. There is a precise amount of cotton to give a good sleep at night.
Near my bed are a metallic glass and a bottle full of water.
A quick preparation if I am exhausted in the middle of the night. Coz, I had a severe panic attack in between the nap.
I visioned my mom showing something, but she was speechless. It kept me puzzled for a long what could be it? And what does she mean with that of a look? Really, it was blurry to understand.