Dawood Ibrahim
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THE middle aged woman who looked more like she was in her sixties wiped the seat from her brow as she entered her little house. She saw her teenaged daughter lying on the only bed they had, she noticed there were tears in the little girls eyes.
“How was college my child?” she asked “Terrible!” wept the little girl. “Were the teachers bad or the subjects difficult?” “Neither,” said the little girl. “So why the tears on your first day my child?” “I don’t want to go to college ever again mother” “But your teachers were good and your subjects were not difficult?”
“My classmates were horrible.” “Oh! Oh!” said the mother. “Did you have a fight with them?” “No mother I didn’t” “They laughed at you?” “No” “Then how were they horrible?” asked the mother. “They ignored me ma. ‘They talked to each other. They cracked jokes with each other. They ragged one another, but they kept away from me.” “And you felt bad?”
“Mother it was horrible. Not just them ignoring me. I also felt different. They wore the latest fashionable tops and skirts, the latest Levi’s and Nike shoes. They were all carrying cell phones and chatting and SMSing all the time. Oh mother I felt strange being there.” The mother looked at her little girl and went over and sat on her bed. The hands that stroked her daughter’s body were rough and blistered. “It’s going to be tough year for you,” she said. “Yes mother,” murmured the little girl “But you can make it easy for yourself,” said the mother. “How mother? How?” sobbed the little girl.
“By doing in college what you entered college for,” said the mother. You didn’t enter to make a fashion statement. You didn’t enter to impress the others. You go my child to study hard and be somebody one day”. The mother stroked the little girl’s head. “My hands are rough aren’t they?” “Yes mother.”
“Remember them, my child. When you see those flashy cell phones think of your mothers hands. When you see mini skirts and costly tops imagine these blisters.” “Why mother?” asked the little girl. “Because my child, if you can give those five years all you’ve got, if you can see the goal you have set out to reach and see nothing else then you need not have hands that do the work I do.
Forget those phones, those fancy clothes, they will be yours when it is time. Walk tall in what you wear, shine in the subjects you have taken and grudgingly but surely will you get your due.”
The little girl kissed her mother’s hands. “Why did you get such rough hands ma?” she asked. A tear dropped from the mother’s eye, “I worked hard to send you to college my child, and now my hands are rough but you can make them smooth by studying hard..!
—Email: bobsbanter@gmail.com
http://pakobserver.net/rough-hands/
“How was college my child?” she asked “Terrible!” wept the little girl. “Were the teachers bad or the subjects difficult?” “Neither,” said the little girl. “So why the tears on your first day my child?” “I don’t want to go to college ever again mother” “But your teachers were good and your subjects were not difficult?”
“My classmates were horrible.” “Oh! Oh!” said the mother. “Did you have a fight with them?” “No mother I didn’t” “They laughed at you?” “No” “Then how were they horrible?” asked the mother. “They ignored me ma. ‘They talked to each other. They cracked jokes with each other. They ragged one another, but they kept away from me.” “And you felt bad?”
“Mother it was horrible. Not just them ignoring me. I also felt different. They wore the latest fashionable tops and skirts, the latest Levi’s and Nike shoes. They were all carrying cell phones and chatting and SMSing all the time. Oh mother I felt strange being there.” The mother looked at her little girl and went over and sat on her bed. The hands that stroked her daughter’s body were rough and blistered. “It’s going to be tough year for you,” she said. “Yes mother,” murmured the little girl “But you can make it easy for yourself,” said the mother. “How mother? How?” sobbed the little girl.
“By doing in college what you entered college for,” said the mother. You didn’t enter to make a fashion statement. You didn’t enter to impress the others. You go my child to study hard and be somebody one day”. The mother stroked the little girl’s head. “My hands are rough aren’t they?” “Yes mother.”
“Remember them, my child. When you see those flashy cell phones think of your mothers hands. When you see mini skirts and costly tops imagine these blisters.” “Why mother?” asked the little girl. “Because my child, if you can give those five years all you’ve got, if you can see the goal you have set out to reach and see nothing else then you need not have hands that do the work I do.
Forget those phones, those fancy clothes, they will be yours when it is time. Walk tall in what you wear, shine in the subjects you have taken and grudgingly but surely will you get your due.”
The little girl kissed her mother’s hands. “Why did you get such rough hands ma?” she asked. A tear dropped from the mother’s eye, “I worked hard to send you to college my child, and now my hands are rough but you can make them smooth by studying hard..!
—Email: bobsbanter@gmail.com
http://pakobserver.net/rough-hands/
