Stories about mother

My mother’s lost letters

One memory from my childhood was watching my mom sit at the kitchen table with a pen and stack of lined loose-leaf sheets of paper to write one of her three sisters a long letter, handwritten in attractive Arabic script. This was one of the only activities that could draw my mom away from her rigorous daily routine of managing every family affair and caring for three daughters with boundless dedication. Taking the time to write letters was a rare respite for our supermom. She would become immersed in her thoughts and intently focus on the blank sheets in front of her, ...

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Letters to God

The box was placed between old grimy paperbacks. It had been there for a long time. She could tell by the layers of dust that enveloped it, obscuring it. She removed it from the iron shelves and opened it while her heart slammed painfully against her ribs. It had been a home for her letters, the ones she had written a decade ago. The envelopes sealed by glue had been opened-mother had read them. She didn’t care. She picked up the first one and went through it. She finished. The tear stained page now dampened by fresh tears. Maybe taking a trip down memory ...

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My fairy tale wedding

I stand over the remnants of tea and pastries, the window creaks open and the wind howls. How did this happen? I close my eyes and my mind takes me back a couple of hours, to the beginning of the evening. “Oh darling!” exclaimed my overjoyed mother, “You look so beautiful!” She circled my chair for the millionth time, brushing imaginary specs of dirt and creases off the jamawaar kameez I was wearing, and adjusting a curl or two. I looked at my reflection in the floor-length mirror; as miserable as I was I had to admit, I did look beautiful. Almost ...

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Someone else’s daughter

My daughter is a young lady now, A ‘woman of the time’, Geared up to conquer the world.   With all the support and confidence, Of her family, And above all, Her father, Behind her.   Her questions have also matured, She is perplexed to see, My diplomas and degrees, Talent and dreams, Gathering dust in musty, dog-eared folders, Packed away in dusty, yellowing, cardboard boxes; A graveyard of evidence, That I, too, was a woman of my time.   She is confused at my non-existent existence, An email-less, Facebook-less, cell-phone-less, near-servile existence.   ‘My father is the best man in the world’, She proclaims proudly, Then questions, The different boundaries, That define the identities, Of two women, In the same house.   I know I can put an ...

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When the devil takes over

“I can’t arrange the funds!” Lucifer said curtly. “Maybe later?” His wife, Delilah, spoke softly, but firmly. “Can’t promise you anything.” His face disappeared somewhere in the smoke of the cigarette. “You loved me. I mattered to you. Once.” Her eyes had a covert, but profound temper. “Once, everything was different. You weren’t so materialistic, once.” He glared back at her. “Materialistic? All that we have ever had is a physical relationship – that’s all. Isn’t that materialistic?” Her voice was sorrowful. “And still you stick around. You know why? Because of the money that I had.” Her husband replied spitefully as he bent down, and ...

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What men can expect when a woman is expecting

The news of conception can be kind of alarming for many fathers-to-be. While the mother-to-be is busy enjoying the extra attention, the poor father isn’t given the time of day. I believe that the dad-to-be is affected a lot more due to the added pressure of looking after two people now, from when the test comes positive to the time of the baby’s delivery. I remember collecting the pregnancy test results on the way home from work in 2003. ‘Positive’ it read. I immediately felt an adrenaline rush on reading it. As was expected, my wife turned into the eighth wonder of the ...

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Confessions of a target killer

Look not in the eyes of those you kill, They rightly say, No heed I gave to this precious advice, That fateful day,   The sun crept up into the sky, the job was usual, A life I had to take, in a manner that was casual. I consumed my breakfast, of bread and butter, Made edible through the warm love, of my dear mother,   Her son was a jewel; a public servant was he, Being one in a million, is what the mother would see, Each day he would toil, working hard for a living, Each night at home, he would peacefully be   Out-stepped the son when, from the bounds of ...

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The housewife

It is an almost wintry morning in Karachi. There is a nip in the air. Lazily, she switches off the fan. Karachi’s weather is also like Karachi itself – interesting but confusing. Outdoors, it is sunny and warm bordering on hot. A trickle of sweat down one’s back reminds one that this is what Karachi winters are like. Indoors she needs a shawl in which she wraps herself up tightly. Maybe it makes her feel protected, much like a newborn, who is wrapped tightly in a sheet of cloth, to reassure it that it is safe as it was in ...

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Banana bread just like my mother used to make it

The sweet smell of ripe baked bananas takes me back to my mother’s kitchen when I was a mere seven year old. By the time I was 15, my mother could no longer share her recipes or secrets with me; she fell sick when I was just a little girl. Growing up, I knew I wanted to hold on to every piece of her that I could remember and so after experimenting and testing out different recipes, I finally figured out my very own banana bread recipe inspired by my mother. It requires no fancy or expensive ingredients, just ...

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Connecticut school shooting: How well do we know our children?

On the morning of December 14, twenty-year-old Adam Lanza shot his mother in the face at their house and then drove to the Connecticut elementary school where his mother worked as a kindergarten teacher. He had two semi-automatic handguns, a semi-automatic rifle and several rounds of ammunition with him. His indiscriminate open fire in his mother’s classroom resulted in the second worst school shooting in United States history, surpassed by the Virginia Tech massacre that claimed 33 lives in 2007. Beside his own suicide and the murder of his mother, Lanza killed 20 children, mostly between five and 10-years-old, and ...

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