We have moved to mainland Karachi, now. We had to take a Navy Boat to cross over to mainland while our stuff came over a land route which connected Manorah to Karachi, but took many extra hours.
I love my new house. It is called ‘Nilofer Mansion’ While it not a mansion by a long shot, It is a two storey house and we live on the top floor. Our portion of the house has three bedrooms a drawing room and a kitchen. However my favorite parts of the house are the roof-top and the balcony. There is a tree that reaches our balcony from the ground. It covers the entire side of the balcony giving us much privacy. The tree has flowers of red-orange color petals with a yellow base. If you look towards the center, you can see filament arise which have individual pollen at the end. My older sister and I play a game with these stalks (filaments). We call it ‘Murghay Larana’. We each hold a stalk with the singular pollen dangling at the end. The goal of the game is to dislodge the opponent’s pollen while keeping yours intact. We also love to eat the base of the petals where it is yellow. It is tart and tangy in taste. So what do we call this flower? Well this is easy… ‘Murgah Phool’.
My sister is strong and she likes to climb trees. One day I saw her climb down the ‘Murgah Tree’. She went all the way down to our neighbor’s house. I promise not to tell Ammi as long as she doesn’t do it again. I do not like her doing that it looks dangerous. She promises and I did not see her do it again.
I am now five. When someone asks Ammi when is Nomi going to school she says ‘Nomi Abhi Chota hai’.
I like that.
However this does not last long. One day Ammi takes me for a walk. It is a long walk. It takes us about 20 minutes to get to a building with a huge boundary wall made of bricks. We pass inside large gates. It is ‘Happy Dale School’. Ammi explains that it is for happy kids just like me. Ammi takes me directly to the principal’s office and says, ‘I am here to admit my son’.
The principal says ‘You are a little late, the session started three months ago, ‘why did you not bring him earlier?’ Before my mom could answer, I decided to intervene, ‘Mein Abhi Chotta Houn’, I said, defending my mom.
At this the principal and my mom started laughing. Ammi explains to the principal that she herself has a Masters degree and used to teach in school until last year. ‘I thought that I could ‘home-school’ my son for another year’, my mom said. ‘However, Nomi likes to play all the time with his brother and sisters’. ‘I could not even teach him the English alphabet’.
‘But I do know the alphabets’, I said indignantly.
‘Really, said the principal, show me how you write it’. I thought she meant if I would sing the alphabet, which I could, of course. But I had not learnt how to even hold the pencil.
‘Sure’, I said, ‘’no problem’.
I grabbed the pencil in my fist, as if ready to stab and then on the white sheet of paper provided, proceeded to draw one gigantic ‘O’
My Ammi and the principal smiled at each other and my fate was sealed. The year was 1964 and my formal education had started.
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