My most vivid childhood memory, 10 April 1988, the day Ojhri Camp blew up. Although i lived in islamabad and the site of disaster was too farway, still it was something i cannot forget to date.
I was in kindergarten and had this habit of taking fresh roses for my teacher almost every morning, she would be too pleased with the flowers and placed them on her desk. And i considered it to be a great honor. When the first blast took place it was our break,we were playing in the ground, and then the mayhem broke out. Shells were actually landing in street, teachers were trying to organize the children, parents were rushing to pick up their children and in the middle of all that i saw this big boy in our class had actually picked up the roses i got for my beloved teacher that morning.
Unperturbed by the blasts i picked a fight there and then with him,'these were the roses I got for miss in the morning how can you take them without permission?' And he was telling me, no, no these roses are mine now. In the middle of that row when i was near to snatching back the flowers, my father picked me and carried home... It still makes me wonder how could i fight over roses in the middle of all that chaos...