My mother was only 19 when she got married back in 1954. As part of her truseau she painted a ceramic vase with a picture of a woman with a sitar she saw in a book of poems by Omar Khayyam.
Over the next 20 years this vase travelled with her all over the country as she lived in various cities and towns as an army wife. Fast forward another 25 years and when I, her youngest daughter bought my own house with my husband it was passed on to me. Since then it has travelled from Pakistan to UAE to Bahrain where it now proudly sits as my most prized posession.