One of the two entrances to the haveli (Nano's ancestral home) in the village.. This is the one we would rush through to greet her when we arrived from Lahore.. It opens into a small dark room with a dirt floor, where once I found my cousin calmly observing two tiny scorpions. The room opens onto a corner of the main courtyard. The picture of this ancient beautiful door tugs my heart, for the same door may not let you walk through into the same time you now cherish.
All through life, we must walk through many doors - may each door be one for lasting blessings, peace and joy! Ameen





The above images kind of make up for me knocking my cheek very hard as I tried to spy in the same dark room on a special prayer for rain held just outside, it having been a dry winter and rain so important to the farmers' crops. My mom was there too, but I think she listened or prayed alongside.The old door does not open too silently... with a crack,rather, and with the sound of the camera too, I hope I am forgiven if I am the reason someone couldnt concentrate enough on their prayers!
That reminds me of an old story of my mom's relatives - so immersed in her prayer was she, that she didnt even notice when a goat knocked over a bowl of milk right next to her. I must ask my mom - I cant remember which relative would have been praying right near a goat, and I am afraid my faulty memory sometimes does a good job of imaginatively compensating for it's little storage space. If my mind made it up, I shall come back and erase it iA :)
Anyway, These children studying at the Madrassa in the mosque opposite were luckily right in view.

I love it when I get to relax with chai at my favourite temperature! It IS a blessing that evokes gratefulness in me.
Especially with a good read - magazine/blog, and warmth.
So here I am reminded of a certain chai I had at my grandmother's house last month - I missed the custom of drinking from these ceramic bowls, painfully cheap (each is handmade/hand painted or stamped, and they sell for literally a few rupees each, so my heart goes out to those who make and sell these for a living).
I insisted on drinking from this, and sat stubbornly sipping from my little bowl above while the villagers sipped from their cups and mugs around me.
I let my tea go cold, so I could have the pictures and memory to keep.

Fly, soar. Or fall;

There seems no other choice dear soul.

Above Pic: My grandmother's ancestral home