There are some places and people one just cannot forget. Even if you move away from that land or city, it still has a hold on your heart. The place I felt most connected to was the street outside my house in Islamabad. You might wonder why.

Every evening, around 5 pm all the children from the neighbourhood would gather in that street to play sports. It was a closed end street, so there was very little traffic. We would play cricket, football or volleyball, depending upon what the majority chose and the availability of the ball and equipment. Some of the boys were older than me, but all of them were very friendly.

Once the teams were made, balls would fly in all directions, whether it was a football or a volleyball or a cricket ball. The street was full of sounds such as “Khair hai, kair hai” (It is ok), “Yeh kia kia!” (What have you done!), “Pakkar yaar” (Catch it mate), “Dhyan se” (Be careful).

There was a lot of laughter and sometimes mini-quarrels would also break out. A player might leave in a huff, but no one remained angry for long as there was so much fun to be had.

Sometimes the ball went into a neighbours’ house. My friends always sent me to bring the ball because I was quite young and cute, and less likely to get scolded. Sometimes an angry neighbour did not give the ball back and we were not able to play any more till another ball was bought. When we wanted to buy a new ball or net, we would all pool in our money together.

In spring season, our street looked very beautiful. There were flowers blooming everywhere and tall trees provided us with shade. There was a huge pomegranate tree growing just outside my house and I loved its red flowers. From our rooftop, the picturesque scenery was loved by everyone.

Weather in Islamabad can change in the blink of an eye. Sometimes when we were playing, there would be a hailstorm and we would rush into our houses or even each other’s homes. Then we could not play outside anymore and spent our time on video games. Once a very strong dust storm started while we were playing. We raced into our houses like we were mice running away from a cat.

In summers, it used to be very hot, so we did not play in the afternoons as much as we did in the other seasons, but we made up for the lost time at night.

At night, we usually rode our bikes in the street when there was a cool breeze blowing. Many adults too used to be outside walking and talking. Sometimes my friends and I rode together to a nearby market to eat snacks. The street was brightly lit and it was quite safe to be outside, no matter what time it was.

Every August 14, we would buy green and white flags and decorate the entire street to celebrate Pakistan’s Independence Day. We also lit candles and firecrackers.

When it was the holy month of Ramazan, we could smell the aroma of fried food stuff like samosas and pakoras being fried in the nearby houses for the Iftar. It made our mouth water and stomach grumble.

Sometimes we were asked to carry trays laden with Iftar food (food to break the fast) to the neighbours. Just before Maghrib prayers, we all would go inside to break our fast.

A few months ago, my father resigned from his job. We moved back to our hometown, Lahore, because my grandparents are very old now. He felt that they needed our support, love and care. I was very upset with this decision at first, because I knew I would miss my house in Islamabad, this street and my friends very much.

A famous writer, Azar Nafisi once said, “You get a strange feeling when you are about to leave a place, like you will not only miss the people you love, but you will miss the person you are now at this time and this place because you will never be this way ever again.”

I love my grandparents too and I have lots of cousins in Lahore, but I miss playing outside in the street and all the fun that I had with my friends in Islamabad. I have joined a new school in Lahore and have made new friends here, but I wonder if that street, the trees and my friends miss me as much as I miss them.

Published in Dawn, Young World, July 3rd, 2021