From Manora to Kemari to Nilofer Mansion, Nazimabad Karachi. 1964.

Manora had been an adventure. We’d boarded a Navy boat, less than an hour ride to mainland Karachi. Our things, though, had taken the long way around, over a land route taking several hours. The boat took us to Kemari, the seaport of Karachi. From there we boarded a Taxi to our new home in Nazimabad. Our new house in Karachi was called 'Nilofer Mansion,' though it wasn't a mansion by any stretch of the imagination. Still, it felt grand to me. It was a two-story house, and our family claimed the entire top floor: three bedrooms, a drawing room, and a kitchen. But my favorite parts were definitely the rooftop, open to the vast Karachi sky, and our little balcony. A magnificent Gulmohar tree reached up from the ground, its branches sprawling across our side of the balcony like a green curtain, giving us the best kind of privacy. Its flowers were a burst of red-orange petals with a sunny yellow base, and if you looked closely, tiny filaments poked out from the center, each with a single, delicate pollen at the end.

My older sister and I had a special game we played with these flowers, which we called 'Murghay Larana'—literally 'fighting roosters.' We’d each carefully pluck a filament, holding it like a tiny sword, the single pollen dangling like a precious jewel. The goal was to deftly knock off your opponent's pollen while protecting your own. We’d giggle and grunt in conLeavingcentration, tiny warriors on the balcony. Afterwards, we'd nibble on the yellow base of the petals – it was deliciously tart and tangy. No wonder we simply called the flower 'Murgah Phool.' My sister was strong and fearless, always climbing trees. One afternoon, I peered over the balcony and saw her doing something truly daring: she was using the 'Murgah Tree' to climb down to our neighbor's house! My heart thumped. It looked so dangerous. I immediately made her promise not to do it again, swearing I wouldn't tell Ammi as long as she didn’t climb that tree again. She promised, and to my relief, I never saw her attempt that risky descent again