By Natasha K. Jadoon

SARA pushed the neon pink tights into her bag and threw herself on the bed and heaved a sigh. The packing was draining her. And the closet was still to be sorted.

Her handbags, backpacks and colourful clutches lay in the left side drawer. The lower portion was filled with books; some postcards some lecture printouts, pocket dictionaries and there were also Eid cards which were piled over a colourful box.

She got up and pulled the box out of the mess. The colourful flower patterns rang a bell. How could she forget it? It was her memory box. It had been with her since as long as she could remember. Legs crossed, she sat on her bed with box in her lap.

The contents of the box were all known to her. The items were associated with many memories, both sweet and bitter, of the 20 years she had lived in this world. There was a bunch of feathers bound in a rubber band.

‘Bubu!’ She cried and remembered herself when she was just six years old, and was wailing in the bazaar.

“I want it, I want it.”

“Okay, just stop whining,” Sara’s mother had to give in.

She still remembered the time she had bought the chick from Sunday bazaar. If it hadn’t been for Sara’s wailing those many years ago, she wouldn’t have gotten it. Her mother was not ready to buy it at first as bringing up such a fragile being would be quite some responsibility. However, she had to give in to the wailings. Or maybe she was also taken in by the cuteness of the little thing.

Once in the house, everybody loved the chick as it melted everyone’s heart. Nobody could help but exclaiming “Awww” at its sight. It was a little yellow fluffy thing running around her feet. It was fun to look at. It peeps lightened Sara up.

Actually, it was his peeps that made her name him “Chuchu”, which later became “Bubu” — weird name you would think, but not for Sara.

“Why should animals be named after people names? Shouldn’t they have their own names?” she always argued.

The time flew by and the chick became a large chicken. His spurs and hackles grew, and so did its aggressive side. Its reddish comb contrasted with its feathers which were white and that made it seem a real beauty. She loved to call it Santa Clause because of the white and the red combination.She even remembered its first cock-a-doodle-doo. The rooster would crow to express its aggressive masculine side. It made it look cuter to Sara. Saturday used to be it bathing day but it never grew used to that. She always had to use force.

Bubu died a natural death. Although she had always foreseen it, it still saddened Sara deeply. She wanted to give Bubu a proper burial. She remembered that Arsalan, her elder brother had been very helpful and emotionally supportive. He even helped her with the burial in the backyard.

How silly she used to be! The older Sara lying on the bed grinned. But at that time it meant so much to her. Arsalan, who was in 10th grade then, had graduated, got a job and was now settled in Canada. So much time had passed and now they were also going to Canada. That’s what the tedious packing was all about.

She smelled the feathers. The lavender smell had gone faint and it had dust in them. She used to spray him with lavender scented deodorant all the time. She remembered cutting his feathers off his tail side because they were the softest. She had seen in old movies how giving away a lock of your hair to someone you love was a gesture that said it all. And her love for Bubu was true and unconditional. It would never die.