In memory of a Gul Mohar Tree

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My dear Gul Mohar in it’s prime

 

Coming home from office on the evening of September 5th, 2013, I stopped at the cobbler’s. I had given my purse to him in the morning for repairs and had to retrieve it at that time. Since the cobbler was still doing something with the purse, I parked the car on one side and my dad alighted from the car to get my purse. While I was parked, I heard some shots coming from not very far away. Since the corner of the cobbler is the same corner that is almost the end of the street my home stands on, I got worried.

I was trying to figure out what is going on – difficult while sitting in the driver’s seat and only fidgeting about – when my Khala called on my mobile phone. While I attended the call, I saw in the side view mirror as my father peeked out from the corner the cobbler was sitting in. If we hadn’t stopped at the cobbler’s, I daresay we would have been at the corner of our street calculating parking the car in our garage and witnessed the whole scenario that happened there. Needless to say, that was unimportant since it was a good thing we had stopped, as it shall be evident further down in my account.

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