As i drove towards the Jamia Masjid, the guards at the checkpoint in Hawal wouldn’t let people pass. It’s futile to talk sense into the concertina wire tenants. Somethings don’t change, as much as we try. I parked my car nearby.
With my torn shoes, I paced my walk as it was getting late to reach the grand mosque. The cold winter breeze, the smell of a jackboots and the sound of children playing with plastic ball cricket. Continue reading “The dark side”
Tomorrow my childhood friend, Tariq is getting married. We grew up in the same neighbourhood. He’s a special person in my life. As kids we used to get into fights with each other. With my strength I always used to allow him to beat me up.Well, not really true.
Most of the time we used to play, day and night to the much annoyance of my parents. Thus my neighbours nicknamed me Awaara- a wanderer.
So we used to spend our time playing cricket mostly. It was our Passion. We were the most wanted players from our generation in the neighbourhood. There used to be a tournament of sorts in the Parade Bagh (An empty field near my house now turned into Garbage Heap) during Strikes and Curfews. Tariq and me were always picked up sooner than others. He was a Batsman, the best one in our neighbourhood. And I was a Fast Bowler (my records speak for myself). So the team we used to be together in, it used to win. And when we played against each other, it used to be an interesting contest. He would hit me for sixes and I would get him out in the next over. Or playing Volleyball or fighting with snowballs or Vish-Amrit or King Queen or just running away from the Orchard where we stole Apples from.
Continue reading “My Childhood Friend”