I believe every place has a history, an untold story, a tale, rewritten and proofread by history and the passing years. Living in the heart of Nawabism (for the lack of a better word) was proving to be pretty boring for this Army Wife.
The Nawabs, had they been alive and present in my brown textured walled living room, would frown upon me with looks of displeasure and disgust as I sat there complaining of boredom to a somewhat sleepy and humidity stricken Sajjad. “You think this city would have more entertainment! It doesn’t even have a cinema!” I proclaimed in a dramatic voice. This, followed by a ranting of how busy the Husband is and how we have not “explored” the city yet and how hot it generally is, as though we had just shifted to a cute little town in Italy.
The morning passed away with the usual…
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