When Ordinary Moments Uncover Painful Truths

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It was the last week of June. The sun was merciless—the kind of heat that makes you sweat even when you’re sitting still. I was in my modest Alto 800 car, quietly parked outside the gate of Badamwari Garden, Srinagar’s famous almond orchard. Like every Sunday now, it had become my routine, waiting there for my three beautiful children.

It was nine in the morning. The sun was already high, and the heat unbearable. Sweat clung to my skin, my clothes stuck to my body, and my head felt heavy. Yet my eyes remained fixed on the road leading to the garden gate, hoping to catch a glimpse of my children’s beloved faces. I was there to pick them up and take them home.

Then, amid the usual crowd, an ordinary scene took place. No one else noticed it—but it quietly shook my soul.

A young couple arrived on a scooty. The man was neatly dressed, with a small, well-kept beard, spectacles, a formal shirt and trousers, and polished black shoes. His wife sat behind him, modestly dressed, holding a little baby—hardly two years old—in her lap. The way both husband and wife lovingly looked at their child stirred something deep inside me.

I watched as the man glanced at his wife with warmth and care. He took her to a Malai Kulfi stall nearby and bought kulfis for both of them. Then, beside the garden gate, at a small roadside stall that sold chips, mineral water, chewing gum, and toffees, the man gently asked his wife to pick something for herself and the baby. They bought a few small items and placed them in a simple bag hanging from her shoulder. The man then tenderly took the baby in his lap, holding him close.

A little ahead, there was a food truck—a small roadside eatery with pots of biryani, fried rice, and kebabs. The aroma of food mixed with the hot summer air. The man asked his wife if she wanted some biryani or fried rice. She smiled politely and refused, saying they had already had snacks and it was enough. He asked again, and she declined once more with a gentle smile.

That simple, ordinary scene opened an old, rusted, long-forgotten door inside my heart. It pulled me straight into my own past. I had lived those moments once—walked through those picnics, those garden visits, those outings. Sometimes with one child, sometimes with two, and sometimes with all three of my children — and my whole family. I too had bought them kulfis, toys, snacks, meals, and carried those tiny hands across these very garden paths. As those forgotten memories came flooding back, my eyes filled with tears.

But along with those sweet, innocent memories came some bitter, heart-wounding truths. I remembered how, after receiving years of love, care, and respect from their husbands, some wives—misled by wrong advice—become cold, indifferent, and ungrateful. They start complaining, creating conflict, and making unfair demands. Many even take extreme steps against the very men who gave them everything in life.

I have personally seen materialistic and greedy women who, after repeated failures to achieve their childhood dream of getting a respectable job, start chasing shortcuts to financial independence. Some misuse personal relationships for money, turning marriage into a business deal and a sincere husband into a source of easy, regular income through maintenance claims. For them, loyalty and family ties mean nothing when greed fills the heart.

Even worse, there are those who cross all moral, ethical, and religious limits. In the grip of greed and malice, some secretly engage in witchcraft, black magic, and other filthy practices. I have witnessed such silent hatred, where wives, consumed by jealousy and resentment, visit fake peer babas and so-called healers to harm the very husbands who once sheltered them.

Shame on such women who neither fear the unseen eyes of Allah nor remember the innocent tears of the children whose lives they destroy in the process. They forget that these crooked tactics never harm anyone but themselves. A day always comes when such women—and their advisers, supporters, and greedy families—face the consequences of their deeds. Allah may delay, but He never forgets.

Yet, not every woman is like this. In the same world, there are noble, simple, and loyal women. Women who stand by their husbands in both good and bad times. Who adjust, show respect, and carry their homes with honour and patience. Who fear Allah and value the little—or much—their husbands provide. Such women are rare, but wherever they exist, they are a priceless blessing from Almighty Allah.

In the same way, I have seen good and honest husbands too—men who gave their best, who loved, cared, and respected, and never allowed their wives or children to suffer. And believe me, good and loyal husbands always have Allah on their side. Not just Allah, but also the people—relatives, neighbours, and acquaintances—who silently observe everything from the first day. Truth may remain hidden for some time, but it never stays buried forever. A day always comes when truth speaks.

It is sad how greed blinds some hearts so much that they forget the value of a sincere companion. They treat husbands like mere providers, running after money without realizing that no amount of wealth can replace pure love and loyalty. Some turn the purest human relations into cold calculations of profit and loss. But money is lifeless—it cannot wipe tears, it cannot hold trembling hands, and it cannot ease loneliness.

One day, when time passes, when youth fades, and when loneliness covers them, they will realise what they lost in exchange for a few currency notes. But by then, it will be too late.

That day, sitting in my modest Alto 800 car, watching an unnoticed scene before me, my heart grew heavy, my eyes filled with tears, and my mind wandered into the world of old memories. A world where only silent tears bring peace.

I looked once more at the young couple, now walking hand in hand towards the flower-filled paths of Badamwari, their child giggling in his father’s arms, the sunlight falling softly through the almond trees. This garden, in its calm and quietness, had silently seen countless stories of love, loyalty, betrayal, and longing.

And in that very moment, under the patient shade of those trees, I realised that some scenes may appear ordinary to the world, but quietly, they shake a soul forever.

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Syed Majid Gilani is a government officer by profession and a storyteller by passion. He writes about family values, moral wisdom, and real-life emotions. He can be reached at syedmajid6676@gmail.com.

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