* Abbu is ‘father’ in urdu.*
I get into the back seat of Abbu’s Maruti. I make it a point to never sit shotgun to my father since the creeps walking around always spare me a glance. Not because of me being pretty or so, but because I have a vagina and it sends me wiggling under my paternal unit’s scrutinising gaze. The roof of my father’s car still has mine and my sister’s fingerprints on it since the time we applied henna for one of my uncle’s wedding. He never had it taken care of. He likes it the way it is.
None but him can make his car obey. It’s amusing. It is 26 yeas old; with my father since the past 9 years. It’s little things like these, I’ve seen growing up that makes me love inanimate objects. I mean, I practically kissed my first cellphone goodnight every single day.
I shut the door of my Dad’s disheveled but beloved car, slowly; for, I never want to see something built with so much passion, dilapidated.
My today’s assignment asked me to ‘publish a post I want my ideal audience member to read and add a new-to-you element in it’. So, I tried getting a picture of our car but I found its at the garage for servicing.
The reason I write this is to portray that random things in my everyday life is my muse. Feedback will be appreciated 🙂