My Roots, Our Beautiful Home

My mum and dad are in Pakistan at the moment and I am missing them a lot.  They have been travelling around between our village in Jhelum, Lahore and Rawalpindi.  My in-laws hosted them for a few day’s, and they enjoyed their stay.

I am so grateful for WhatsApp and being able to check in every day to see that they are ok and if they need something.  Dad has been sending back pictures from wherever they happen to be. These ones of my granddad’s village brought back so many memories.  It’s such a beautiful place.

One of the communal water wells in the village, when I was a child the women would gather here to chat, they are less used now that people have running water in their homes.

This is some kind of weighing scale, not sure what they weigh, maybe crops?

I, my brother and some cousins went trekking up these mountains as children, we packed some snacks, walked for hours, didn’t seem to get very far, walked back thinking we were in big trouble, and no one had noticed we had gone.  That was one of the only times in my life I have been able to roam free in this way.

I have such mixed feelings about my origins: humble beginnings, migration, partition, village politics, the casual misogyny of our elders, the hardship and strength of our women, rose-tinted views of the past.  I will write about it some time, when I have my thoughts in better order, but for now I’m going to enjoy the lovely view.