Dream Education .... by Behroze Pervaiz (e books for reading TXT) 📖

January 1, 2005.

“Behroze Betaaaa, get up, we are getting late honey, hurry up beta”. My mother continuous yelling awoke me up. Still yawning! I trotted down the stairs, sprawled in mom’s lap again on the couch, nestled, trying to catch balmy comfort sleep again free from those haunt yelling.

“Hmm! Beta mera…..don’t you want to go for a morning walk with mum, its eight honey”, my mother said in gentle voice, whilst clanking her wedding ring with a cappuccino coffee cup, snappishly blustering my mind and the jolty thuds were disturbing the nap. Another swerve to siesta, she was continually squeezing my nose with other spared hand before she had picked up newspaper. I was not giving her a good attention.

“Honey…Hurry up”, she uttered briskly while stowing newspaper on the side table. This time she lured in an intention of giving me a surprise in opposition to my pleasant sleep cum to accompany her in the morning walk. Before she could exasperatedly frown, I managed to leap up and tottered stomp steps towards bathroom. There as usual, I met my friends, Colgate brethren “Colgate paste and brush”. My pals helped me out well reviving me up. I was briskly moving my back, dancing gestures, and the foam was gurgling and drooling out of mouth dissipated into the basin. I washed my face with a famous soap “Imperial Leather”, after a glimpse on its wrapper labeling new enhanced characteristics like alovera and herbs especially designed for feminine face. Abruptly my mind fleshed the merits of alovera once I had read in some newspaper so without any further notion of feminine commodity I put that on and rinsed the face.

I had been opening and closing tap many times, staring fixed pensive, standing still, lost in something however it was common mischief. After all I had left bathroom and trotted to coach table, lift up a glass jug, and made a glass of water from two feet heighted droplets spilled hither thither.

“Naughty boy, what do you think you are doing, is it fun, Ill-manner boy”, rumbled my mother scolding a thunder slap in an instant very precisely on my neck back. For the time being I thought my memory had gone and eyes were flashing just was seeing hovering sparrows on my head. She stowed water spots from the table and floor, “where are your sneakers, tighten them up fast, now move on, hurry up” as she added further.

Its 8:15 now.

After I had swigged the glass of water and fastened my favorite sneakers. Attached eyes on sneakers still playing with laces, a thought had fluttered that once I wished this pair would be mine enviously. Pushing myself up from the couch, now I was kicking and stumbling to each and every article passing through in the house beckoned like “Zeedan”, frantically playing with an imaginary football, dodging visionary players, and finally hitting telephone stand I made a fantastic goal and raised hands up, moved alike embracing audience. Then I blustered “mo0o0o0om I’m ready”, whilst fluttering stomp steps in the house making shriek noises with sneakers on maple floor.

As few minutes soared, we went to university of agriculture for morning walk that was adjacent to our colony, “Gulberg”. Mom parked the car at General Post Office gate. I was engaged in playing “Assassin II” on my cellular phone. “Turn it off immediately, get out of car and don’t forget your bottle”, mom growled very low while striding off the car. I threw my Nokia on the dash board, unfastened the seat belt, embraced calm weather facing towards the mist out of car and slammed the door.

There was a feet heighted barrier; as usual I dashed towards the gate and agile two three times fluttering to and fro of the barrier ambidextrous feet together. Meanwhile mom had come handing me sweet chocolates to eat them before the saunter. As she had an opinion, it was best diet that she had an acquaintance in from some of the diet and health morning babbles on Television with experts and doctors.

She gave the remote a few shudders because it was not working properly and locked the car. It was a 2000 Honda Civic that was the comfort my mom enamored. She had told me once; she wished this car in her college life. But yet it was too old like my grandpa and also adequately repaired. Sometimes it made me haunt remembrance of school days, when it took nearly an hour to ignite in winter with great indebt of loud croaky echoing blusters, destroying the balmy sleep of neighbors and my inferiority complex.

Mom hardly trotted in her walk and I was very much furious clamping mom’s both hands pushing and urging her to make her pace with me. She had tried few times a bit but suddenly caught in panted breath. Then ultimately I started dashing here and there revolving around her, jumping calmly to reach her shoulder back. At last we had reached d-ground, the immense ground, where I was feeling freedom to run dashingly where ever I tempted, leaping, rolling, and frog-jumping.

There I found a burrow and I was watching it pensively at an arm’s length because of sensational under age fear thinking what it was and where it was leading to under the ground. Ignoring that burrow after a speck of time I was indulged again in smugy feats, serpent rolling. There were also usual other few morning pedestrians. Whenever I had felt some one swerving, just before a second I briskly move towards mom in psychological timid fear.

Before going back, mom took bit stretching exercise. I also used to mirror those taut steps. Not later than a small gap, mom said patiently, “Time to go, sweet heart”. I was mumbling in mingle of heart and mind to not to go back so early as it seemed we just had come but my tiredness shoved me out of there without the temptation of another moment staying there.

Way back to home, continuously I was thinking pensive, if I would be a student of this university but misty dream vanished suddenly because of engaging in other childish activities and I was also not in habit of rummaging through tempt notions.

I took pep up shower just after I had reached home sweet home and picked up my enamored novel “Harry Potter” the famous imaginative world and personality written by J.K. Rowling, a heart touching story writer. I was not used to read novels as I myself dislike this habit cruelly but just for increasing and learning by heart good vocabulary and I could bet J.K. Rowling novels were best for this intention. I used to accompany mom at kitchen table daily in morning whilst that day she had been chopping lady finger for lunch. I was folded legged, fully leaped on table bended elbows, seeing mom from header horizon of the novel. Usually I read novel in a bit loud sound to swerve away mom’s solitude. She had dulcet fragment of concentration on my zest reading in a voice full of zenith, pauses and falls.

As usual I awoke up, ajar eyes, in autumn dim dingy dawn in a bit scramble. I dashed for ablution and galloped to mosque immediately.  People had been bowing already, when I destined there and joined them staggering. Many times I had felt that FAJAR prayer in quite early daylight was responsible for cheering me up because of the reason when ever I oozed out of the mosque there were always some physiological pursue pull but I had to cross the verge.

On the way back home, I was feeling extreme excreted perspiration all over my body; first reason was guest like behavior of electricity and feats of WAPDA entire nighttime that I could hardly took a nap and secondly jogging class. After some time ascended, I swigged large gulps of water as I had heard that those were very good for health before taking anything else in the dawn. Pungent perspiration was then transformed in putrid smell squeaking me continually to take invigorating shower in order to get rid off it. I was splendid ATIF ASLAM in bathroom but my mom’s acerbic growls and especially allusion of HADITH ushered me to stand down those my juvenile ridiculous addictions.

It was the day my first lecture at IMIT institute and I was standing in front of mirror combing in dull haunt hopes. Abruptly bluster oozed in from door ajar, “Dad is calling ya bro….” My sister sudden frightening loud sound jolted me at once. Scrambling, I made hair a puffy look, spared down the comb from the distance that weaved leaping on the dressing table. I glimpse of myself again in the mirror and gave a final touch bagging my shirt a bit. I hanged over the shoulder my college bag rummaging through the room if I had left anything. Then I swooped down the banister on tepid hips.

I stepped into dad’s maple office, and he ushered me to sit down on the chair often where dad’s pals supine down like “Chaudaries”. I was always envious of dad’s office and had wished there could be mine too just one like that. He was rivet in some book, of which title, I was trying to see anything I could get from the distance, goggling.

Apparently, it was like a mother holding her 2 year old child beseeching for her thirst and strong appetite, leaned against electricity poll, paved right on the road side, nestled her son in her lap. And another woman with her 8 year old lass, a mature beauty, manicured with expensive frock, and equipped in emerald gleaming shoes stood nearby holding her mom’s hand in one hand and giving a penny with the other to that glumly miserable woman and in return the begging woman was weaving her second hand of blessing over the fluffy girl’s head.

Meanwhile I was goggling, abruptly dad closed the book in gun shot sound and placing in an apple pie order in his cup board of  scrupulous collection.

“Hey Asalam o Alaikum WA Rahmatullah”, Dad saluted me.

“WA Alaikum Asalam WA Rahmatullah”, dully with a spirit I replied.

“So what are you doing today, what’s today’s plan”, then in calm voice he asked.

“Today it’s my first lecture at IMIT”, I replied in loosing voice.

“Um...Hmm. then I have a news for you, son”, he said furtively.

“Oh Dad… horrible if it is then please keep it till evening tea and if startling, I’m anxious”, I said desperately.

“Ha-ha! What happened to you son, is there any thing you want to say”, he inquired.

“No dad, nothing special, just, please, you, I, dad I want to go dad please, I’m getting late for college”, I answered in quite scramble manner.

“Okay… If I say you that you are not going anywhere else university agriculture”, he said igniting me.

“Oh! Please no more squibs dad I’m already very desperate”, I chattered.

“It is true son, my son; your name is on the list we have seen while we have a morning walk at university agriculture.”

“Okay…” I said in deep consolation breath.

“Get your