Last night while I was reading short story written by Virginia woolf,a sentence caught my attention :Oh Oliver !when will you have sense, my son?. The sentence sounded so familiar as if I had listened it many times. I just gave up reading and started following the flashes of emerging memories on surface of mind. I see my mother seating beside me and pull aside the tuft of curly hairs from my forehead and saying ‘’Oh! Arooj, you again hurt yourself during your non-sensible play. When will you have sense, my dear?
In the very next moment I heard my mother shouting behind me, while I am sitting in the wall trying to reach the upper branch of the tree standing my neighborhood,’’Oh! Arooj, you are gain going to get severe injury, come down my child.
And then I feel myself in the arms of my mother, lying besides her, ready to sleep when she is saying ‘’Oh! Arooj, how much you mischievous you are promise me you won’t do the same things by tomorrow. The last thing that I could recall was the kiss of my mother and false promise on my part.:-)
Now ,when I am grown enough to decide what to and what not to do, I am just longing for such caring loving check that would keep an eye on my all acts and would blow a piece of pray with my every move. But now I am standing among ruthless crowd where people are ready to notice my faults and blunders and none will say
Oh! Dear when will you have sense?