I Remember

Background : Recently, I read Joe Brainard’s book “I Remember.” An interesting read which inspired me to create an I Remember list of my own. This post mentions some entries from that list.

I remember the evening when my father came home, took me to a corner and put something sweet in my mouth. It was petha — a soft candy made of sugar and white pumpkin. He had bought it on his way home, eat some and saved the rest for me.

I remember the time when I moved to my current place. It was a cold night and there was frozen ice on the porch. The light bulb wasn’t working.

I remember the very first wedding of my family. It was my sister’s and she was a pretty in red.

I remember the very first funeral in my family. It was my father’s, a single front teeth was visible through his slightly open lips.

I remember my father.

I remember the day when I had to take a programming test for a job. The company was far from my home, my sister drove me there. We were early and killed our time by going to a nearby park and swinging on the swings. I did get that job.

I remember the mulberry tree in our lawn.

I remember the summer holidays when I received an electric shock while trying to change an electric table-fan’s direction.

I remember the long walks while coming back from the college. That route had Karachi’s biggest graveyard.

I remember Karachi’s beach and the white foam of it’s waves on a moonless night.

I remember the first time I saw my niece. A few hours old, in her mother’s arms who was sitting on a rocking chair, trying to nurse.

I remember the boy who resembled his neighbor. Later in life, I realized it wasn’t a coincident.

I remember the walks to my father’s shop to deliver his lunch box. The lunchbox was made of copper and had a solid gold color. It’s color was a cause of embarrassment for me, but nobody ever made any fun.

I remember the first time my mother brought grapefruit home and I tried to eat a slice with the skin on. It was bitter. Later, I figured out that I need to take the skin off.

I remember the earache nights and the mustard oil on a silver spoon, heated with garlic clove.

I remember a fish bone once stuck in my throat for a couple of days. None of the home remedies worked. It got out on its own.

I remember a cat forgot one of her kittens in our home. We adopted the kitten, and fed her using our father’s eye-drop bottle. She was golden and white. Later, just before dying, she turned completely pink.

I remember we saved our pocket money to buy a duckling. She died within an hour of the purchase. I stepped on her while playing soccer, the only occasion in my life when I played soccer.

I remember the mango tree in our sehan — central yard. The only fruit it ever produced was a small green mango, someone stealthily plucked it before it could ripe.

I remember the grape tree.

I remember all the trees that my mother had.

I remember my father’s cigarettes.

I remember once going to a hospital to see my father. Hospital policy didn’t allow me to see him since I was a kid. I had to sit in the waiting area.

I remember the clock tower in Istanbul. It was stopped.

I remember walking on the graves because there was no other path.

I remember daydreaming of my early and tragic death and envisaging everyone’s reaction.

I remember playing poker and how everyone always knew if I had an ace. My smile was the clue.

I remember the junk dealer who would give guavas in return of the junk kids sold to him.

I remember the first time we moved. I took a public bus with my sister and was holding a cardboard box with my pet chick and duck in it.

I remember running up and down the stairs the first time we had a home with stairs.