Today is about a story from my childhood.
Lets begin with saying that being a single child, most of my stories were around me and my parents. Nothing more. Sometimes, less.
But what I want to share today is not really a story, has another character – and a setting that very few I know have had the privilege of growing up in.
The place I remember living in, from age four to grade eight – age 14, was a one bedroom apartment in old Muscat, just opposite the Riyam Park (I often boasted it was named after me :P). The most beautiful part of the locale was that it was almost a wadi, but not just. Imagine a horseshoe shaped mountain range, with homes and a mosque lining its periphery. That was it.
Since I was little, I had but one playmate – a Pakistani girl by the name of Asma. She is a doctor now, married and practising in Karachi, but we’re always in touch.
She and I used to climb these mountains, have secret little spots where we could rest and sip on our grape flavoured ‘Rani drink’ and make the most of the one hour that was playtime. And I’m not talking about just a hill or an odd raised ground – these used to be a part of the Hajar Mountains, tall and proud. With little vegetation and the occasional spotting of a fox, snake or millions of kinds of insects. And if one climbed high enough, you could even see the blue sea, sparkling under the Sun.
We spent afternoons and evenings in those mountains. I even lost my footing and rolled down a couple of metres once – still have scars on my knees as proof. I cannot get them out of my head, these times. Sometimes, I even ask Baba to drive past the place where we lived, and I roll down the window and just look out.
His Majesty, the Sultan is very fond of flowers. Since I was a child, I heard that fresh flowers were flown in from Holland every day, to adorn his palaces. Fortunately, the Government building where the flowers were processed and made into intricate bouquets by Filipinos was also in the locality. It is impossible to count the number of times I climbed into the big green garbage bin they had (dedicated to flowers, which were a day old) and fished out the most beautiful mauve roses, peach coloured carnations and bunches of orchids. So deep was my obsession, that I became to be known in school as the girl who always brought flowers.
Asma and I have a lot of memories in that valley. I don’t know about her, but once this awful summer subsides, I sure want to climb those mountains again.
🙂 Yes. Let us go conquer!