Reminiscences
The images of my childhood are blurred portraits. Blurred, but not inferior. They are grand and royal and beautiful. They serve as a vessel to all the happy events and the cherishable memories. The music that used to play in my brother's room, the smell of phenyl from when the floors were mopped, the sound of the fan turning at maximum speed during summers, mother's morning call on Eid and midnight hugs on my birthday--they are retained in my memory like the back of my hand; and are evoked at the sligthest mention, smell or sound of it. They are retained in my memory, not in details, but in emotions. Recently, I visited an amusement park from one of those memories and it had suddenly shrunk in size from what I could recall through my childhood memories. And so had that hospital that I used to visit as a child for my vaccines. It made me realise that all our memories are prone to subjectivity. It is always emphasised how childhood days are the best ones-full of hope, devoid of