I don’t think I have any distinct memories of living in Pakistan but may be some flashes – going to school with a wooden slate to write alphabetswith a reed pen; later when we fled our village to get to Sargodha, we stayed in a camp for some time, all the time surrounded with unhygienic conditions; dad got plane tickets for familyafter a lot of running around; vague recollection of being in a transport plane sitting against our baggage; paper bags handed out if one couldn’t help puking – this was explained to me later. Plane landed in Lahore en route to Ambala. One pleasant memory I have is of eating dried chapatis with white butter and sugar as a child.

(Narrated to Monica by her father Rajendra Kumar Narula)