When I was not even a year old we moved to our house in Islamabad. We lived there for 13 years and this was the longest time I have lived in one place. This house has special meaning for me as I spent my childhood years there.
My earliest memories of this house are probably when I started school. We had a white Fiat and my father would drive me and my elder brother and sister to school.
Compared to the cramped, falling over each other houses that we can afford these days, that house was huge. It had a long driveway leading to a garage where our dog had puppies, a small back garden and a front garden. I remember the guava trees in both the gardens that I loved because I could climb them easily. I spent many afternoon hours outside and I learnt to skate and cycle grazing my elbows and knees in the driveway.
The house consisted of two floors. There was a sitting room downstairs which was reserved for the guests and a lounge overlooking the back garden. Adjacent to these were the kitchen and dining room and they were connected by a swinging door with a window in it. I would help my mother in the kitchen when she made something special. A guest room completed the plan downstairs and we frequently had house guests staying there. Of course my favorite visitor was my grandmother and I remember I used to sometimes sleep with her in the guest room.
Upstairs was another lounge where we would sit at the table and do our homework. There were 3 bedrooms connected to this lounge which were occupied by my parents and us 3 kids. There was also a big terrace where our washed clothes would hang.
Connecting the two floors was a winding staircase. We would hardly ever bother coming down the steps, we would just slide down the railing all the way down. Even now remembering that makes me smile.
Whenever I have a dream where there is a house involved, it is always this house of my childhood years. I will always remember it with fond memories.
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