Reflection Of Life

You mean the World To us

“Mind making me a little bowl of fruit custard? I’m starving!” Monir handed them the bags of fruits, untying the knot of his dark grey tie.


“I don’t mind, Abbu, but finish your lunch first.” Fahmida's voice had a playful, yet stern tone.

“Heard that? I agree with her. No dessert before the main meal.” Parveen joined in the conversation.


“Ok, my little mother, you win, and you too, madam!” Monir gave his wife a little wink.


Fahmida accompanied her mother to the kitchen. It was true that her paternal aunt was a professional chef in a well-known restaurant, but to her, mom was “the one” for homemade food, even watching her make the preparations was a nice cooking lesson in itself.


“Ammu, did I show you this?” she asked, holding up the sketch.

“Hey, isn’t that a work of your Physics teacher? You must’ve done many good deeds today.”

"Wow! that's an exquisite work of art. You can also use it as a picture prompt to develop a nice story." Monir commented, as he appeared in the scene. The Looney Tunes T-shirt complemented his cotton trousers well.

Fahmida frowned at her father, making a face. "You look like a kid!"

"The kid I fell in love with, many years back." A soft smile created an instant glow on Parveen's face.

"Tell me more, please..."

"Stories have to wait, my darling, lunchtime now."

Fahmida shared most of her daily events with her mother, save some special teen talks, which were kept in stock for Shanto or Saima. Teenage musings were always mysterious, and teens naturally did not prefer to share their thoughts with complete adults, especially parents. Fortunately, Parveen was friendly with the girl ever since she was a child, which did not give rise to what is known as generation gap these days.

At times, they would just sit sunbathing in the balcony, with a bit of knitting, needle or crochet work. Sometimes these hobbies did strain their eyes, but once a sweater for Monir, or an embroidered tablecloth was completed, it gave them immense pleasure.


Moreover, gardening was also a nice way of spending quality time together. The hobbies previously mentioned were only for the females, but Monir admired the potted-plant garden, which motivated him to join in the fertilizing or the plant-watering. A few mango, jackfruit, lychee and blackberry trees resided both inside the garage and outside the gate of Hasan Cottage.





Bangladesh was definitely a lovely evergreen country with trees and rivers spread widely across the map. However, the capital city did not get as much trees as needed, thanks to the widespread developer companies. These business people, as Parveen called the developers, took up every single piece of vacant land for their high-storied apartments.


On top of that, people hardly got fresh air to breathe, thanks to the traffic congestion Dhaka city was famous for.


“I think that rose plant needs some more fertilizer, honey.” Monir commented, as he noticed an almost withered rose plant while watering.

“Maybe a bit of sunlight too. Why don’t you help with the fertilizing, handsome?” Parveen suggested, with a heart-melting smile.


“Come here, beautiful…”Monir summoned her, spreading his arms wide.


“Watch out, your daughter’s not a baby anymore. She might appear any minute.” Parveen warned, walking into a warm embrace.


Monir lifted up his wife’s chin, to sink deep into the black, kohl -lined eyes. Even after two decades of married life, Parveen had a lot to turn him on. Hair cascading down her shoulders past her moderate waist line, with an intoxicating smell of jasmine all around her. The only hair products Parveen used were hair oil, shampoo and occasionally henna to bring a shade of red to her greyish-black curls. The brands of her hair oil varied, so did the smell. Sometimes her tresses had the scent of jasmine, sometimes the natural aroma of Indian gooseberry or almonds.


“Ahem!” The sound of a small cough brought the couple back to reality. Fahmida had sneaked in, the entrance to the rooftop had been kept ajar, and the teen had silently tiptoed inside.


“Happy Anniversary, both of you.” She announced. A colorful package wrapped in handmade paper occupied her hands; she just stood in the middle of her parents.


“Whoa! Little lady, you have a sharp memory indeed!” Both of them took the parcel together. A lovely set of family photographs were placed in the four heart shaped chambers of the frame Fahmida had bought some days before.


One of the photographs had Parveen dressed up in her red wedding hand loom Shari

A special type of long cloth very popular in both Bangladesh and India

and a matching veil. Two others had the couple in two different poses, and the last one showed the whole family, a precious moment captured on Fahmida's first birthday. Parveen had given one of their family albums to her daughter for safekeeping. She took out four diamonds out of that gem-mine, to decorate her gift.


“This one’s the best of them all.” Parveen pointed at the fourth photograph.
“You’re the best present we could ever get, little mother.” Monir said, as Fahmida threw herself in her father’s inviting arms.

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