Door: Balochi by: Khalil Seth Translation by: Ali Jan Maqsood
In a drizzling morning, a person, very far away from home, had called his mother.
“Mom, do you remember granny’s neighbors? That opposite compound’s ones, near the small gate? Zarbano, Mahbano and another woman was there who always brought curry in afternoons? Beside the small gate, that the wall was short? Whosoever she saw from there, she called out and handed over the curry. She was smaller than Mahbano and Zarbano; she was thin. She always wore a green scarf. That you always teased that she fell down in the canal and never came back again; she was gapped-teeth? That in her marriage granny had fallen down and her foot had broken? Today, I am missing her, but after thinking deeply, I still cannot bring in memory her name.”
His mother was speechless at the other end, “Hello, mom.”
His mother was silent. For a while she also did not say anything. She only listened.
After a while, he again asked her, “Mom, maybe you are crying?”
His mother replied from the other end with a smile, “You are not missing a moment, you are missing your childhood.”
After his mother’s reply, he got mum and did not say anything. His mother was not pronouncing anything either.
After being muted for a while, his mother asked, “Maybe you are crying?”
This short story is taken from Radio Balochistan’s Youtube channel. Here is the link in Balochi;