FRACTURE

Heavy Days

Just like today, every day back then followed the same routine: wake up, eat breakfast, go to school, waste a few hours there, come home, maybe watch television for a while, then study, study, study, have dinner, go to bed, and do it all over again the next day. Back then, I never realized how quietly those ordinary days were slipping away.

My dad, Mohammad Haidar Ali, was an English teacher at a private coaching center. He also tutored students in their homes. Besides teaching, he loved singing and playing musical instruments—talents that probably helped him earn a little extra income from time to time.

I never asked my father how he earned his livelihood or how much he made each month. Maybe I was too young to think about it, or maybe I simply never felt comfortable speaking that freely with my parents. I don’t really know what it was back then… but now I think it was the second one.

He earned enough—enough to feed our family, cover my school expenses, and perhaps send a little money to my grandparents as well. To give you a clearer picture of my father’s financial condition: even a low-end smartphone was something he could never afford—and even now, it remains out of reach.

Even after almost twenty years, our situation hasn’t improved—it has only gotten worse. Almost every day I see my mother arguing with him over grocery expenses, while he quietly searches his wallet before sending me to the store. We have to think about saving money for tomorrow’s food before we even buy today’s food.

Memories — 6