Stories about daughter

No matter how old she grows, she’ll always be my baby

Recently, my daughter graduated from kindergarten. The emotions I feel are hard to describe. As clichéd as it sounds, I still remember the first time I held her in my arms. I remember being mesmerised by her dark eyes, as if they still held secrets of the world they had come from, wide awake and looking right into my soul. I remember the feeling that took over me; a feeling more powerful than love, more powerful than any other emotion I had felt before that. I don’t have a name for that emotion. Only a mother knows that emotion and understands it. It ...

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A love drowned, a life washed away

Safina gazed at the stormy sea, watching the sombre night sky light up against flashes of lightening outlining a dramatic assembly of clouds. Rain poured from the sky accompanied by drumbeats of thunder, blurring the beam from the lighthouse. She had lost count of the nights spent by the window, gazing at the sea. A ship’s horn sounded in the distance, signalling her husband’s return home after two months. On that misty night, the ship had sailed into view, making for the harbour. As Safina watched from the window, the ship glided into view, visible only because of the lights. She ...

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For the sake of women

Last week Shazia Bibi, a resident of Lahore, was taken to the Mayo Hospital with severe burn injuries. According to what her husband told the police, his other wife had thrown boiling water on her. It was not until a day later that she told the police that the culprits were her husband and his brother, after she had refused to ask her parents for Rs100,000 as asked by her in-laws. Unfortunately, Shazia did not survive to fight against this violence, but then how many who survive do? Yesterday was the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women. No less ...

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My daughter, my angel

Soaring to the skies on the Ferris wheel, Galloping in the meadows on the carousel, The glint in thy eyes, thy laugh and thy squeal, Caressed by the wind, enjoying the feel Pure passion flowing free, unadulterated zeal. Eyes full of mischief, your touch oh-so kind, A fondness so chaste, is so hard to find, At work or at play, with you on my mind, Each breath and each beat, to thee I consigned, Is it true what they say, have I gone blind? A hand around my finger, and holdin’ on tight, As you fall asleep, flowing into the night, Dreams filled with angels, and creatures of light, I sit by ...

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More his mama than mine

Uzma’s eyes were fixed on the clock. She had to wait for nine more seconds till it was exactly 3:00am. Her trance was broken by the aching last breath of the cigarette between her fingers. This pain was short-lived. There were no signs of Ali’s return. Maintaining a smooth marriage was never on his priority list. Neither was this new to Uzma, nor was it the reason of her sleeplessness tonight. In her 12 years spent in Calgary, she had experienced insomnia every December. The melancholic mewling of very noisy Frederic III was becoming unbearable. Its monotony seemed to be drilling ...

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Your daughter is beautiful and she has the right to know it!

Today my daughter and son ran up to me, their eyes dancing with excitement. “Mama!” Mishaal* spluttered “I found an acorn! Me and Raami* are going to dig the mud and grow an acorn tree with it.” With every word, her tongue made an ‘ssssssssss’ sound at the end as the air swished out from the gap where her two front teeth used to be. She gave me a huge toothless smile. I laughed and hugged her tight and said “You are so beautiful” She smiled wider, “Mama you always think that”, and then bounced out to grow their acorn tree, with Raami in tow. It’s funny, ever ...

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Daddy’s little girl: My last love and her first

Daughters are precious. Seems like yesterday when I took mine into my arms for the very first time; it’s been 17 months already, and time seems to have no intention of slowing down. At the office, I just can’t wait for the day to end so that I can enjoy the sound of her laughter, the sight of her cherubic face, the touch of her little arms wrapped around my neck, the taste of the half-eaten saliva-soaked potato chip that she lovingly shoves into my mouth, and the smell of watermelon-flavoured baby shampoo in her hair. Every day that I ...

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My father: Absent but always present

My father, who is hardly ever here, Lines his walls with books As though to prevent them from falling in. The mismatched clothes he likes to wear, They smell like thoughts Of pine trees and topological functions. My father, whenever he is here, Lends me his helpless traits. And I shelve them obediently, my walls mere imitations. My father, when he goes anywhere, Carries his roots with him In the tilt of his head, in the clearing of his throat. My father, who is never here, Gifted me his hands – But not what was in ...

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Changing times: ‘I always wanted a daughter’

Chandini is only about four feet, nine inches tall. Her body seems to have naturally bent from the strain of having carried four children, one after another, on her waist for about a decade now. She had her first child when she was 17-years-old.   She ruefully points at her first born, a boy, who was desperately trying to reattach a broken arm to a doll’s body, and says: I took one look at the child, and I couldn’t stop my tears She had wanted a daughter. Jagat, Chandini’s husband, earns his living by screening the trash and selling what is possible to the scarp ...

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Is it a crime to be a girl?

It was an hour of joy and happiness for my mother when the doctor told her she would have me in her arms in nine months. But this happiness turned into despair for my father and grandmother as they came to know that a girl would be born to their family. They forced my mother to kill me before I was born. Daddy, please don’t kill me. I won’t make you angry. I’ll be a good daughter; I won’t ask you for expensive clothes and toys. Please don’t kill me. But I was killed after just 30 days in my ...

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