Can you proofread this story?

Quick Decisions
Author: Rizwan Ahmed Memon

In life, we make many decisions. Some for our career, some for our relationships, and some for our education. Decisions that are carefully decided, and made with consultancy from our elders, parents, or friends often prove to be right. Also, we sometimes make quick decisions which later on make us regretful. Rameez had made a quick decision of getting married, which he regretted later on in his life.

Soon after graduation, Rameez had tied the knot with his cousin, Jugnoo. She had not attended any school or college. Still she read and write in her mother tongue Sindhi. Jugnoo and Rameez were engaged to each other since their childhood. After the marriage, they soon had a son. It was a tradition in many families in rural cities of Sindh to decide who will be married to whom. This tradition of early engagement had been cause of many problems in the province.

Having no proper and consistent source of income, Rameez faced financial problems. He hardly could make four to five thousand rupees in a month, which were by no means enough. Due to the lack of money, Jugnoo often complained and quarreled with Rameez. “Why did you get married if you are unable to run the house? First you should have got a job. Because of your quick decision our child is suffering, too. I could starve, but I cannot see my three years old in this state,” she cried.

“Jugnoo, wait everything will be fine,” added Rameez.

“This is what you have been saying since the day we married. Now I cannot wait. Now I will have to do something for me and my son’s future,” Jugnoo stated.

“You think I don’t love my son? Am I not trying my hardest to find a good job?”

“See, Rameez. Now I cannot believe in your consoles anymore. Tomorrow, I am going to my parents, and I will take Rambo with me.”

“You are not going anywhere. Please try to understand. Just wait everything will be all right,” he implored.

Jugnoo was determined to leave the house. With Rameez she thought that their life was getting worse day by day. The next day, as Rameez came home in the evening, he found a letter hanging in the wall of the room. She had written in the letter, “I am sorry, Rameez. I am going to Karachi to my parents. I will return only when you have a good job and a house of your own. If you ever try to come to me, I will get divorce. I can take better care of my son than you, and my parents have enough money for us. You have given me nothing else, but hunger and agonies. Good bye.”

“May you always be happy wherever you are. I am an unlucky man,” he lamented.

Jugnoo was happy with her parents. Rambo was getting education, and his grandparents were delighted to have him. Poor Rameez worked in the factory the same way, and lived in that rented house for twenty five years.

When Rambo was twenty, he had become a good officer. One day, he said to his mother, “Mom, I want to see my father. I think you had made an impulsive decision when you had left him.”

“I don’t know whether he is alive or not,” added his mother.

“He is our family. How selfish we are that in this long period of time we never tried to contact him.”

“You are right, and it is all my fault,” agreed his mother.

“Tomorrow, we will go to Larkana and take him here,” said Rambo.

Thus, they decided to visit Rameez. The next day, they left for Larkana.

When Rambo and his mother reached the house, they were surprised to see a new house full of decorations. It looked like a bungalow. Jugnoo couldn’t believe it when she saw a beautiful woman coming from kitchen who was Rameez’s second wife, Samreen.

“Who are you and how did you enter the house?” Samreen asked them.

“You tell us who you are. This is our house,” replied Jugnoo. While they were talking, Rameez came from his office in his big car.

“Rameez, is it you?” Jugnoo surprisingly asked.

“Yes, it is me.” Who is he?

“This is Rambo our son. Rambo, meet your father.”

“Oh, my son! How long it has been since I saw you and held you in my arms. How tall you have become!” he murmured as Rambo hugged him.

“Samreen, she is Jugnoo, my wife, and this is my son,” said Rameez to Samreen.

“Hello, I am sorry. I behaved rudely. I didn’t know this,” she apologized to them.

“Rameez, how did this happen? How did you built this house? I mean how did you become rich?”

“It is a very simple story. The year you left me, right after that year I got a good job! I didn’t try to come to you because you had left me not I. Above all, you left me in my hard times.”

“Yes. I am very sorry for what I did. But why did you get married?”

“I am a man. I need a wife at home. Simple!”

Jugnoo became so ashamed, and she realized that instead of leaving her husband she should have stood by him in those difficult times. Jugnoo had to put up with Samreen. Rameez’s second wife was a lifelong punishment for her impulsive decision.

Jugnoo and Rambo decided to live with Rameez in that house in Larkana. One day when Rambo and his father were out for a walk, his father said to Rambo, “I am sorry I could not give you love that a father gives to his children. I am sorry I could not buy you gifts when you were a child. I am sorry I was not around when you had missed me. Oh, I wish I had seen you grow up. I wish I had played games with you. Oh, my dear son, I have always loved you and missed you. When your mother and I were no longer together, it didn’t mean I didn’t love you. Your mother had always quarreled with me. I was between jobs and was going through tough times. I tried to make your mother understand, but she didn’t listen to me at all. One day, as I came home, I found a letter in which she had threatened me of divorce if I ever came to you to Karachi. Little bit of quarrels take place between wife and husband, but when these quarrels grow into big conflicts, the children are affected the most. I am sorry for all that.”

I wrote this story today. Please help me with the language errors. Help me make it natural and accurate.

The Luck-Stricken
Author: Rizwan Ahmed Memon


It was March 3, 2005. I was reading a novel when someone called at the door saying, “O Molvi Bashir wo!” I understood who it was form the voice and the name he took while calling. He took the name of my father.

I answered him, “Aayo.” which means ‘coming’ in Sindhi. He two or three times called. He was Haji Gul, a cobbler who wandered in the streets mending the shoes of the villagers.

He asked me if there were any shoes for repairing in the house. I went and brought some shoes, which my mother had kept aside for getting repaired. When he fixed the shoes, I asked him, “How much money should I bring?”

“Whatever, any amount,” he replied.

He repaired shoes of the villagers, and took very little amount form them. In his early life he was neither poor nor mad. He became so, when he lost his wife and son.


Whenever he came, he called by taking my father’s name. Even though he knew my father had died many years ago. I felt he deliberately took my father’s name. I felt a kind of happiness when I heard my father’s name. Perhaps, the cobbler too felt good when he took the name. My mother had told me that he was very dear to my father.


The village children often teased Haji Gul. They even threw stones at him, so he mostly used to sit under the trees at Padhro, which was a ground in the village. In summer, when I used to come back form school, I used to cross that ground. I often found him lying on the earth with a palm straw bag under his head as a pillow. He kept thread, needles and other tools in the bag through which he repaired the shoes. In those hot summer days, he found comfort in the dense shadows of the trees. I many times wanted to sit with him there and chat, but I never did because of the villagers.


My mother often told me about his life. According to her, he was a prosperous man. He had two sons. Once he went to Mecca for pilgrimage with his family. There his wife got lost. No one could find her. The villagers say she had run away with an Arab man. God knows better what happened, but the separation of Haji Gul’s wife from him appalled him so much.


He came back to Pakistan with his sons. He had hardly recovered himself from the sorrow of his wife when one of his young son was run over by a donkey cart. His son died. This is when Haji Gul lost his senses.


Since that day, happiness turned back on Haji Gul. His tears had dried. He stopped taking baths, changing clothes, and talking to others. Under those trees he talked to himself, laughed and wept.


I had finished my school and college. I went to university out of the village and city. After four years, when I returned back. In many days I didn’t hear the call “O Molvi Bashir Wo”, so I asked my mother about Haji Gul. She told me that he had died two years ago. Still that call echoes in my ears when I read novels in the morning or in summer evenings.


In life, we are surrounded by many people who have a great stories behind their faces. If we ever try and look deep in their eyes, we can have a sense of their tragedies. If we pay a close attention to their voice, we can feel the pain in their hearts. Instead of making fun of these people, we should learn from their lives and actions because life can bring difficulties on us too.

HI. Please help me with this story. Please proofread.


Robbi was only fourteen, studying in a hope to be a doctor, when her father married her off. She was married to Zaman who worked in the fields. All of Robbi’s dreams were shattered before they came true. Her husband treated her as if she was any servant or slave. He punished her, abused her, and harassed her. He commanded her to look after the buffaloes and cows. She milked them, and grazed them near the bank of the river, which was at a little distance from the fields where her husband worked.

Robbi gave birth to Rabia at the age of fifteen. Robbi and her daughter were week due to Robbi’s pregnancy at a very young age. Early marriage brought many bad effects on Robbi’s health. It has been more than a year since Robbi has seen her mother. Robbi’s father never allowed Robbi’s mother to visit Robbi. Neither Robbi’s husband.

Days kept going and Robbi kept bearing all the injustices from her husband. In rural areas of Sindh, a province of Pakistan, most women are treated by men this way. Only few women raise their voice against the oppression. Robbi could never go against, but she had decided that she would not let her daughter be victim of all this.

One night, Robbi said to Zaman, “Saeen, Rabia is now five. We need to send our daughter to school.” In Sindhi the word ‘Saeen’ is used for someone who is admired or respected.

“School? Don’t you know in our village girls are not allowed to attend the school? She will never go to school,” her husband replied.

“But Saeen, she must get the primary education at least so that she could read and write our native language Sindhi.”

“I don’t like explanations and answering back. I said she will never go. Now get out of my sight!” he angrily shouted.

Young Rabia was watching and listening her parents talking about her from the window. Rabia in her heart hated her father because she had seen him beating her mother many times. The next day, Robbi, as usual, went to graze the cattle. Rabia used to stay at home with her grandparents. They never cared much for Robbi and Rabia. They had wanted Robbi to give birth to a boy. That day, Robbi decided that she would take her daughter out for grazing the cattle. This way, she would have a chance to teach Rabia their native language on her own. Robbi knew reading and writing in Sindhi, and she also knew little bit English. She decided to teach her daughter herself.

At night, Robbi called her daughter. “Rabia? Rabia? Where are you?”
“Ami, I am here with grandpa.”
“Won’t you hear a new story tonight?”
“Oh, yes.”

That night Robbi made Rabia understand the whole plan. Robbi thought that Zaman would do the same with the daughter as Robbi’s father had done with Robbi. “At least I had got my primary education. I have to do something for my daughter, otherwise in this male-dominated society my daughter would be deprived of even basic education.” she whispered to herself.

The next day, as usual, Robbi woke up early, milked the buffaloes, churned the Lassi, and fed the cattle. When she gave breakfast to her husband, she told him, “Saeen, I want to take Rabia with me. She will learn grazing the cattle and cutting the grass. She is not going to school, so she better learn the household works.”

“All right. Keep close eye on her,” he agreed.

After Zaman had gone, Robbi and her daughter left to graze the cattle. In the way, she gave Rabia two hundred rupees, which she had earned by selling the milk, to buy two pens, red and blue, a notebook, and a text book of first class from the village general store. Robbi gave her a palm straw bag, in which she took her lunch. Rabia purchased and put all the things in the bag. When they reached the river, the cattle started grazing, and they both started studying. On their first day, the mother taught her daughter some letters of the alphabet of their native language.

For five years they studied in this way. Hiding their books from everyone. Children do their homework at their homes, but Rabia did her at the river bank. Rabia became able to read and write the Sindhi language, and a little bit English.

HI. Please help me with this story. Please proofread.


Robbi was only fourteen, studying in a hope to be a doctor, when her father married her off. She was married to Zaman who worked in the fields. All of Robbi’s dreams were shattered before they came true. Her husband treated her as if she was any servant or slave. He punished her, abused her, and harassed her. He commanded her to look after the buffaloes and cows. She milked them, and grazed them near the bank of the river, which was at a little distance from the fields where her husband worked.

Robbi gave birth to Rabia at the age of fifteen. Robbi and her daughter were week due to Robbi’s pregnancy at a very young age. Early marriage brought many bad effects on Robbi’s health. It has been more than a year since Robbi has seen her mother. Robbi’s father never allowed Robbi’s mother to visit Robbi. Neither Robbi’s husband.

Days kept going and Robbi kept bearing all the injustices from her husband. In rural areas of Sindh, a province of Pakistan, most women are treated by men this way. Only few women raise their voice against the oppression. Robbi could never go against, but she had decided that she would not let her daughter be victim of all this.

One night, Robbi said to Zaman, “Saeen, Rabia is now five. We need to send our daughter to school.” In Sindhi the word ‘Saeen’ is used for someone who is admired or respected.

“School? Don’t you know in our village girls are not allowed to attend the school? She will never go to school,” her husband replied.

“But Saeen, she must get the primary education at least so that she could read and write our native language Sindhi.”

“I don’t like explanations and answering back. I said she will never go. Now get out of my sight!” he angrily shouted.

Young Rabia was watching and listening her parents talking about her from the window. Rabia in her heart hated her father because she had seen him beating her mother many times. The next day, Robbi, as usual, went to graze the cattle. Rabia used to stay at home with her grandparents. They never cared much for Robbi and Rabia. They had wanted Robbi to give birth to a boy. That day, Robbi decided that she would take her daughter out for grazing the cattle. This way, she would have a chance to teach Rabia their native language on her own. Robbi knew reading and writing in Sindhi, and she also knew little bit English. She decided to teach her daughter herself.

At night, Robbi called her daughter. “Rabia? Rabia? Where are you?”
“Ami, I am here with grandpa.”
“Won’t you hear a new story tonight?”
“Oh, yes.”

That night Robbi made Rabia understand the whole plan. Robbi thought that Zaman would do the same with the daughter as Robbi’s father had done with Robbi. “At least I had got my primary education. I have to do something for my daughter, otherwise in this male-dominated society my daughter would be deprived of even basic education.” she whispered to herself.

The next day, as usual, Robbi woke up early, milked the buffaloes, churned the Lassi, and fed the cattle. When she gave breakfast to her husband, she told him, “Saeen, I want to take Rabia with me. She will learn grazing the cattle and cutting the grass. She is not going to school, so she better learn the household works.”

“All right. Keep close eye on her,” he agreed.

After Zaman had gone, Robbi and her daughter left to graze the cattle. In the way, she gave Rabia two hundred rupees, which she had earned by selling the milk, to buy two pens, red and blue, a notebook, and a text book of first class from the village general store. Robbi gave her a palm straw bag, in which she took her lunch. Rabia purchased and put all the things in the bag. When they reached the river, the cattle started grazing, and they both started studying. On their first day, the mother taught her daughter some letters of the alphabet of their native language.

For five years they studied in this way. Hiding their books from everyone. Children do their homework at their homes, but Rabia did her at the river bank. Rabia became able to read and write the Sindhi language, and a little bit English.

Hello. Thanks a lot for replying and editing the story. Actually, this is the chapter 2 of my story. I hope one day I will make a novel of this story. I am going to share the whole story with you form the very first chapter. I soon will write the third chapter of this story too.

Please proofread.

Chapters of Injustice
Author: Rizwan Ahmed Memon

Chapter: 1
It was a sunny day. Robbi was so delighted to win the prize in her class for an essay competition. Her teacher said her that he was sure that one day Robbi would become a great woman. Robbi said to her teacher, “God willing, I would become a doctor.” The teacher replied, “God wills that. I know because He has given you all the abilities which a successful doctor should have.” Robbi came home and showed her mother the prize. Robbi’s mother was happy too, but her father didn’t seem to be happy.

Robbi’s father was a drunkard; her mother had to pay for her education. She made both ends meet by doing needlework. Besides going to school, Robbi also helped her mother in household works and in needlework. Days kept going by and Robbi was in class nine then. At night Robbi’s father said to her mother, “Now Robbi has grown up.” Her mother said to him, “No, she is still young, well why do you say so?” He said, “Now Robbi won’t go to school anymore.” Her mother said, “No, she has to study still, and she wants to be a doctor.” “A doctor, impossible!” he said. “Why can’t she be a doctor? She is most clever girl in the class?” said her mother. Her father said to her mother, “Because the time has come for her to go to her real home.” “You are thinking about Robbi’s marriage? She is still too young,” she said. “Well sooner or later she has to go. Sooner the better.” said Robbi’s father. He further added, “I have already talked to my old friend. He has a son who works in the fields, and that will be better for her. I don’t want to talk about it anymore that’s it.”

In morning when Robbi was getting ready for going to school, her mother said her, “Stay at home today.” Robbi said, “why dear mother?” She said, “Today I have a lot of work and I want you to help me.” Robbi said, “All right if you say so, I am not going.” So on that day her mother told her that her father was going to get her married. Robbi tore into pieces. Her mother said her, “It is inevitable, neither can I do anything nor you can refuse. If we go against, we will both be in trouble. So it is better to be quiet and endure.”

Robbi’s dreams shattered. She felt a storm inside her, and she wanted to cry as much loudly as it could break the sky. Weeping and sobbing she slept. In few days, Robbi’s father married her off. Now she was just walking around as if already dead.

Chapter: 2

Robbi was only fourteen. She was studying in the hope of becoming a doctor, when her father married her off.

She was married to Zaman, who worked in the fields. All of Robbi’s dreams were shattered before they could come to fruition. Her husband treated her as if she was a servant or slave. He punished her, abused her, and harassed her. He commanded her to look after the buffaloes and cows. She milked them and grazed them near the bank of the river which was a short distance from the fields where her husband worked.

Robbi gave birth to Rabia at the age of fifteen. Robbi and her daughter were week due to Robbi’s pregnancy at a very young age. Early marriage led to many detrimental effects upon Robbi’s health.

It had been more than a year since Robbi has seen her mother. Robbi’s father never allowed Robbi’s mother to visit Robbi; neither did Robbi’s husband. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years as Robbi continued to bear all the injustices that her husband did to her. In rural areas of Sindh, a province of Pakistan, it is common for men to treat women in this way. Very few women raise their voice against the oppression. Robbi would never resist, but she had decided that she would never let her daughter fall victim to this abuse.

One night, Robbi said to Zaman, “Saeen, Rabia is now five. We need to send our daughter to school.” (In Sindhi the word ‘Saeen’ is used for someone who is admired or respected.)

“School? Don’t you know in our village girls are not allowed to attend school? She will never go to school,” her husband replied.

“But Saeen, she must get a primary education, at least, so that she can read and write our native Sindhi language.”

“I don’t like your explanations and answering back. I said she will never go. Now get out of my sight!” he shouted angrily.

Young Rabia was watching and listening her parents talking about her from the window. In her heart, Rabia hated her father because she had seen him beating her mother many times.

One day, Robbi went to graze the cattle, as usual. Normally, Rabia would stay at home with her grandparents; who never cared much for Robbi or Rabia since they had been disappointed when Robbi did not give birth to a boy.

On this particular day, Robbi decided that she would begin to take her daughter out with her to graze the cattle. Robbi had learned reading and writing in Sindhi when she was a child, and she also knew a little bit of English. She decided that she would educate her daughter herself while the cattle grazed.

At night, Robbi called her daughter, “Rabia? Rabia? Where are you?”
“Ami, I am here with grandpa.”
“Won’t you let me read you a new story tonight?”
“Oh, yes.”

That night Robbi told Rabia about her plan. Robbi had originally thought that Zaman would do the same for their daughter as Robbi’s father had done for her.

“At least I had got my primary education. I have to do something for my daughter, otherwise in this male-dominated society my daughter will be deprived of even basic education,” she whispered to herself.

The next day, as usual, Robbi woke up early, milked the buffaloes, churned the Lassi, and fed the cattle. When she served breakfast to her husband, she told him, “Saeen, I want to take Rabia with me. She will learn grazing the cattle and cutting the grass. She is not going to school, so she better learn the household chores.”

“All right. Keep a close eye on her,” he agreed.

After Zaman had gone, Robbi and her daughter left to graze the cattle. Along the way, she gave Rabia two hundred rupees, which she had earned by selling the milk. The money was used to buy two pens, (one red and one blue), a notebook, and a first grade text book from the village general store. Robbi also gave her a palm straw bag, in which she packed her lunch. Rabia purchased all these things and put them in the bag. When they reached the river, the cattle started grazing, and they both started the lessons.

On their first day, Robbi taught her daughter some letters of the alphabet of their native language. For five years they studied in this way; hiding their books from everyone. Usually, Children do their homework at their homes, but Rabia did her at the river bank. Rabia eventually learned to read and write the Sindhi language, and a little bit of English.
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PS: If you like, I want to be your friend via email?

Hi. Your suggested edits are very nice. You have a good command on English. Thanks a lot for replying. In the second chapter you had written 'METE UPON HER' What does METE mean? "Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years as Robbi continued to bear all the injustices that her husband could METE upon her. "

I changed it to something else.
Here is the story after the changes.

Chapters of Injustice
Author: Rizwan Ahmed Memon

Chapter: 1
It was a sunny day. Robbi was so delighted to win the prize in her class for an essay competition. Her teacher told her that he was sure that one day Robbi would become a great woman.

Robbi said to her teacher, “God willing, I would become a doctor.”

The teacher replied, “God wills that. I know because He has given you all the abilities which a successful doctor should have.”

Robbi came home and showed her mother the prize. Robbi’s mother was happy too, but her father didn’t seem very happy about it. Robbi’s father was a drunkard; her mother had to pay for her education. Financially, she made ends meet by doing needlework. Besides going to school, Robbi also helped her mother in household chores and needlework.

Years passed and Robbi eventually made it to grade nine. One night Robbi’s father said to her mother, “Now Robbi has grown up.”

Her mother said to him, “No, she is still young, but why do you say so?”

He said, “Now Robbi won’t need to go to school anymore.”

Her mother said, “No, she has to study still. She wants to be a doctor.”

“A doctor, impossible!” he said.

“Why can’t she be a doctor? She is the most clever girl in the class!” said her mother.

Her father said to her mother, “Because the time has come for her to go to her real home.”

“You are thinking about Robbi’s marriage? She is still too young,” she said.

“Well sooner or later she has to go; the sooner the better.” said Robbi’s father. He further added, “I have already talked to my old friend. He has a son who works in the fields, and that will be better for her. I don’t want to talk about it anymore; that’s it.”

In the morning when Robbi was getting ready for going to school, her mother said to her, “Stay at home today.”

Robbi said, “Why, dear mother?”

She said, “Today I have a lot of work and I want you to help me.”

Robbi said, “All right if you say so, I am not going.”

So on that day her mother told her that her father was going to get her married. Robbi’s heart was torn into pieces. Her mother said her, “It is inevitable. I can do nothing; nor can you refuse. If we go against your father’s will, we will both be in trouble. So it is better to be quiet and endure.”

Robbi’s dreams were shattered. She felt a storm inside her, and she wanted to cry so loudly that her voice would break the sky. She fell asleep weeping and sobbing.

In a few days, Robbi’s father married her off. Now she was wandered aimlessly through life as if she were already dead.

Chapter: 2

Robbi was only fourteen. She was studying in the hope of becoming a doctor, when her father married her off.

She was married to Zaman, who worked in the fields. All of Robbi’s dreams were shattered before they could come to fruition. Her husband treated her as if she was a servant or slave. He punished her, abused her, and harassed her. He commanded her to look after the buffaloes and cows. She milked them and grazed them near the bank of the river which was a short distance from the fields where her husband worked.

Robbi gave birth to Rabia at the age of fifteen. Robbi and her daughter were weak due to Robbi’s pregnancy at a very young age. Early marriage led to many detrimental effects upon Robbi’s health.

It had been more than a year since Robbi had seen her mother. Robbi’s father never allowed Robbi’s mother to visit Robbi; neither did Robbi’s husband. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years as Robbi continued to bear all the injustices that her husband did to her. In rural areas of Sindh, a province of Pakistan, it is common for men to treat women in this way. Very few women raise their voice against the oppression. Robbi would never resist, but she had decided that she would never let her daughter fall victim to this abuse.

One night, Robbi said to Zaman, “Saeen, Rabia is now five. We need to send our daughter to school.” (In Sindhi the word ‘Saeen’ is used for someone who is admired or respected.)

“School? Don’t you know in our village girls are not allowed to attend school? She will never go to school,” her husband replied.

“But Saeen, she must get a primary education, at least, so that she can read and write our native Sindhi language.”

“I don’t like your explanations and answering back. I said she will never go. Now get out of my sight!” he shouted angrily.

Young Rabia was watching and listening her parents talking about her from the window. In her heart, Rabia hated her father because she had seen him beating her mother many times.

One day, Robbi went to graze the cattle, as usual. Normally, Rabia would stay at home with her grandparents; who never cared much for Robbi or Rabia since they had been disappointed when Robbi did not give birth to a boy.

On this particular day, Robbi decided that she would begin to take her daughter out with her to graze the cattle. Robbi had learned reading and writing in Sindhi when she was a child, and she also knew a little bit of English. She decided that she would educate her daughter herself while the cattle grazed.

At night, Robbi called her daughter, “Rabia? Rabia? Where are you?”

“Ami, I am here with grandpa.”

“Won’t you let me read you a new story tonight?”

“Oh, yes.”

That night Robbi told Rabia about her plan. Robbi had originally thought that Zaman would do the same for their daughter as Robbi’s father had done for her.

“At least I had got my primary education. I have to do something for my daughter, otherwise in this male-dominated society my daughter will be deprived of even basic education,” she whispered to herself.

The next day, as usual, Robbi woke up early, milked the buffaloes, churned the Lassi, and fed the cattle. When she served breakfast to her husband, she told him, “Saeen, I want to take Rabia with me. She will learn grazing the cattle and cutting the grass. She is not going to school, so she better learn the household chores.”

“All right. Keep a close eye on her,” he agreed.

After Zaman had gone, Robbi and her daughter left to graze the cattle. Along the way, she gave Rabia two hundred rupees, which she had earned by selling the milk. The money was used to buy two pens, (one red and one blue), a notebook, and a first grade text book from the village general store. Robbi also gave her a palm straw bag, in which she packed her lunch. Rabia purchased all these things and put them in the bag. When they reached the river, the cattle started grazing, and they both started the lessons.

On their first day, Robbi taught her daughter some letters of the alphabet of their native language. For five years they studied in this way; hiding their books from everyone. Usually, Children do their homework at their homes, but Rabia did her at the river bank. Rabia eventually learned to read and write the Sindhi language, and a little bit of English.

Preface for my book. Hi, native speakers and friends. Please proofread my preface.
If you want to proofread it on lang-8, here is my link on lang-8. http://lang-8.com/945171

Preface

To show the value of someone or something, people use different methods. A writer makes use of a pen to do that. When a writer wants to write about something or someone, he has different devices that he can use. He can write a story, an essay, a poem, a letter or a text in another format. With the grace of God, I have employed many of these forms in my writing. Poems, short stories, biographies, letters, and essays have allowed me to express my emotions in words in different ways.

In this world, many stories die when men die. Not all people have the ability to preserve their thoughts for coming generations in such a way that they will exist even after their death. Everyone sees the world in their own way and has different views and beliefs. To preserve and share my ideas and experiences with the world, I have put them in the form of stories, poems, letters, essays, and biographies.


The ups and downs of life and experiences teach us lessons that we were never taught at school. They stir, emotions in us and we act in peculiar ways. Sometimes we open our hearts and tell what we feel, and sometimes we find an outlet for our feelings and emotions. Firstly, in my story category, I have tried to write about pain, mistakes, and experiences of my own or of someone else which can be messages or a lessons for coming generations. I usually take characters from my surroundings. I was in fifth grade when I penned my first story in my native language Sindhi. After I learned English, I translated it into it. As far biographies go, I wrote some about inanimate objects, and also a little baby who took birth in my neighborhood.

Secondly, there are the letters. I really have never sent a love letter to any girl in my life, but I wrote many out of my deep emotion of love. Every man on the earth falls in the thing they call love. Only a few people show it; most hide it. I have shared my personal feelings, such feelings people tend to suppress. However, I believe one day every secret in the world will be revealed. If it isn’t, what is the use of keeping it in the heart and letting it die with us? Well, some secrets are top secrets and they really must be kept to ourselves. In June 2013, I came to my village while on holidays from the university. In the village, I had two friends who were close to me, but because of some minor conflicts we didn’t talk or meet. I was dealing with loneliness and pain. This is when I started writing letters. Being away from my friends caused me severe heartache. In those days, I started to pour my heart out to Angly in the form of letters. The surprising thing is that these letters never reached Angly until we married. After getting married, when Angly came to know that I have been writing letters to her and they were in English, she became curious about reading them. Unfortunately, she didn’t speak English, so she couldn’t read them. I translated some of them for her in Sindhi. The things that are related to love never lose their value. These letters symbolize how deep love can be for someone when they are away from you or with you. True feelings never change. Truelove never ends. When you love someone, find a way to express it. Life is short, so it should be lived with love and for love. People say nowadays truelove is only found in novels and stories. If it is true, it means we have changed, not the time. However, I believe there are still people who love truly.

Whenever I read these letters, my love renews and multiplies for Angly. These letters will give you feelings of healing and peace of mind if you love someone, too. I still write letters to Angly when she goes to visit her parents. You can find the past letters, the present, and future letters on my blog.

Thirdly, is the poem section. When I started to jot down the words of my heart and mind, which came out of longing, separation, and the wish to be with someone, my poems came to be. Poetry can provide such a magic of words that even the wizard, the writer, can be surprised. Sometimes sitting under the Neem tree, sometimes in fields, and sometimes by the riverbank, the magic of my thoughts and words have surprised me. All the poems that I have written represent my different states of mind at different points of time. Happy thoughts come when you are happy, and sad ones come when you are sad.

Finally, in the essay section, I have described the values, customs and facts of the world.

I had read somewhere that “There is time and room for every word,” so I hope my writings will somehow be of some help, inspiration, instruction, pleasure, and encouragement to all the readers. Read and enjoy my thoughts and make your life better, if you can.


Ideas, beliefs, emotions and people change with the passage of time. My pen keeps flowing, and my fingers typing. I come up with different pieces of work. Angly’s love and friendship have always been behind my writing. Apart from that, the world’s special and simple people and all things in it inspire me to write. Not everyone can play this game of words. Only those who feel deeply, care deeply, and love deeply can be part of this game. Angly, my wife, says I am one of those sensitive people who notice everything. It is a good trait for a writer to have. A writer defines on paper the world around him, the experiences, and the things he sees. Once those things are written they outlaw the author himself.

I hope that the work that I have done will be valuable for readers. I will continue writing while there is breath in my body. I post all my writings on my blog. Anyone can visit the blog to read new pieces of writings and to stay informed of my activities. The address is http://rizwanahmedmemon.blogspot.com/. All the writings in this book and the works which I am creating now and will create in future will be on the blog

With best wishes,
Rizwan Ahmed Memon

Preface for my book. Hi, native speakers and friends. Please proofread my preface.
If you want to proofread it on lang-8, here is my link on lang-8. http://lang-8.com/945171

Preface

To show the value of someone or something, people use different methods. A writer makes use of a pen to do that. When a writer wants to write about something or someone, he has different devices that he can use. He can write a story, an essay, a poem, a letter or a text in another format. With the grace of God, I have employed many of these forms in my writing. Poems, short stories, biographies, letters, and essays have allowed me to express my emotions in words in different ways.

In this world, many stories die when men die. Not all people have the ability to preserve their thoughts for coming generations in such a way that they will exist even after their death. Everyone sees the world in their own way and has different views and beliefs. To preserve and share my ideas and experiences with the world, I have put them in the form of stories, poems, letters, essays, and biographies.


The ups and downs of life and experiences teach us lessons that we were never taught at school. They stir, emotions in us and we act in peculiar ways. Sometimes we open our hearts and tell what we feel, and sometimes we find an outlet for our feelings and emotions. Firstly, in my story category, I have tried to write about pain, mistakes, and experiences of my own or of someone else which can be messages or a lessons for coming generations. I usually take characters from my surroundings. I was in fifth grade when I penned my first story in my native language Sindhi. After I learned English, I translated it into it. As far biographies go, I wrote some about inanimate objects, and also a little baby who took birth in my neighborhood.

Secondly, there are the letters. I really have never sent a love letter to any girl in my life, but I wrote many out of my deep emotion of love. Every man on the earth falls in the thing they call love. Only a few people show it; most hide it. I have shared my personal feelings, such feelings people tend to suppress. However, I believe one day every secret in the world will be revealed. If it isn’t, what is the use of keeping it in the heart and letting it die with us? Well, some secrets are top secrets and they really must be kept to ourselves. In June 2013, I came to my village while on holidays from the university. In the village, I had two friends who were close to me, but because of some minor conflicts we didn’t talk or meet. I was dealing with loneliness and pain. This is when I started writing letters. Being away from my friends caused me severe heartache. In those days, I started to pour my heart out to Angly in the form of letters. The surprising thing is that these letters never reached Angly until we married. After getting married, when Angly came to know that I have been writing letters to her and they were in English, she became curious about reading them. Unfortunately, she didn’t speak English, so she couldn’t read them. I translated some of them for her in Sindhi. The things that are related to love never lose their value. These letters symbolize how deep love can be for someone when they are away from you or with you. True feelings never change. Truelove never ends. When you love someone, find a way to express it. Life is short, so it should be lived with love and for love. People say nowadays truelove is only found in novels and stories. If it is true, it means we have changed, not the time. However, I believe there are still people who love truly.

Whenever I read these letters, my love renews and multiplies for Angly. These letters will give you feelings of healing and peace of mind if you love someone, too. I still write letters to Angly when she goes to visit her parents. You can find the past letters, the present, and future letters on my blog.

Thirdly, is the poem section. When I started to jot down the words of my heart and mind, which came out of longing, separation, and the wish to be with someone, my poems came to be. Poetry can provide such a magic of words that even the wizard, the writer, can be surprised. Sometimes sitting under the Neem tree, sometimes in fields, and sometimes by the riverbank, the magic of my thoughts and words have surprised me. All the poems that I have written represent my different states of mind at different points of time. Happy thoughts come when you are happy, and sad ones come when you are sad.

Finally, in the essay section, I have described the values, customs and facts of the world.

I had read somewhere that “There is time and room for every word,” so I hope my writings will somehow be of some help, inspiration, instruction, pleasure, and encouragement to all the readers. Read and enjoy my thoughts and make your life better, if you can.


Ideas, beliefs, emotions and people change with the passage of time. My pen keeps flowing, and my fingers typing. I come up with different pieces of work. Angly’s love and friendship have always been behind my writing. Apart from that, the world’s special and simple people and all things in it inspire me to write. Not everyone can play this game of words. Only those who feel deeply, care deeply, and love deeply can be part of this game. Angly, my wife, says I am one of those sensitive people who notice everything. It is a good trait for a writer to have. A writer defines on paper the world around him, the experiences, and the things he sees. Once those things are written they outlaw the author himself.

I hope that the work that I have done will be valuable for readers. I will continue writing while there is breath in my body. I post all my writings on my blog. Anyone can visit the blog to read new pieces of writings and to stay informed of my activities. The address is http://rizwanahmedmemon.blogspot.com/. All the writings in this book and the works which I am creating now and will create in future will be on the blog

With best wishes,
Rizwan Ahmed Memon

Preface for my book. Hi, native speakers and friends. Please proofread my preface.
If you want to proofread it on lang-8, here is my link on lang-8. http://lang-8.com/945171

Preface

To show the value of someone or something, people use different methods. A writer makes use of a pen to do that. When a writer wants to write about something or someone, he has different devices that he can use. He can write a story, an essay, a poem, a letter or a text in another format. With the grace of God, I have employed many of these forms in my writing. Poems, short stories, biographies, letters, and essays have allowed me to express my emotions in words in different ways.

In this world, many stories die when men die. Not all people have the ability to preserve their thoughts for coming generations in such a way that they will exist even after their death. Everyone sees the world in their own way and has different views and beliefs. To preserve and share my ideas and experiences with the world, I have put them in the form of stories, poems, letters, essays, and biographies.


The ups and downs of life and experiences teach us lessons that we were never taught at school. They stir, emotions in us and we act in peculiar ways. Sometimes we open our hearts and tell what we feel, and sometimes we find an outlet for our feelings and emotions. Firstly, in my story category, I have tried to write about pain, mistakes, and experiences of my own or of someone else which can be messages or a lessons for coming generations. I usually take characters from my surroundings. I was in fifth grade when I penned my first story in my native language Sindhi. After I learned English, I translated it into it. As far biographies go, I wrote some about inanimate objects, and also a little baby who took birth in my neighborhood.

Secondly, there are the letters. I really have never sent a love letter to any girl in my life, but I wrote many out of my deep emotion of love. Every man on the earth falls in the thing they call love. Only a few people show it; most hide it. I have shared my personal feelings, such feelings people tend to suppress. However, I believe one day every secret in the world will be revealed. If it isn’t, what is the use of keeping it in the heart and letting it die with us? Well, some secrets are top secrets and they really must be kept to ourselves. In June 2013, I came to my village while on holidays from the university. In the village, I had two friends who were close to me, but because of some minor conflicts we didn’t talk or meet. I was dealing with loneliness and pain. This is when I started writing letters. Being away from my friends caused me severe heartache. In those days, I started to pour my heart out to Angly in the form of letters. The surprising thing is that these letters never reached Angly until we married. After getting married, when Angly came to know that I have been writing letters to her and they were in English, she became curious about reading them. Unfortunately, she didn’t speak English, so she couldn’t read them. I translated some of them for her in Sindhi. The things that are related to love never lose their value. These letters symbolize how deep love can be for someone when they are away from you or with you. True feelings never change. Truelove never ends. When you love someone, find a way to express it. Life is short, so it should be lived with love and for love. People say nowadays truelove is only found in novels and stories. If it is true, it means we have changed, not the time. However, I believe there are still people who love truly.

Whenever I read these letters, my love renews and multiplies for Angly. These letters will give you feelings of healing and peace of mind if you love someone, too. I still write letters to Angly when she goes to visit her parents. You can find the past letters, the present, and future letters on my blog.

Thirdly, is the poem section. When I started to jot down the words of my heart and mind, which came out of longing, separation, and the wish to be with someone, my poems came to be. Poetry can provide such a magic of words that even the wizard, the writer, can be surprised. Sometimes sitting under the Neem tree, sometimes in fields, and sometimes by the riverbank, the magic of my thoughts and words have surprised me. All the poems that I have written represent my different states of mind at different points of time. Happy thoughts come when you are happy, and sad ones come when you are sad.

Finally, in the essay section, I have described the values, customs and facts of the world.

I had read somewhere that “There is time and room for every word,” so I hope my writings will somehow be of some help, inspiration, instruction, pleasure, and encouragement to all the readers. Read and enjoy my thoughts and make your life better, if you can.


Ideas, beliefs, emotions and people change with the passage of time. My pen keeps flowing, and my fingers typing. I come up with different pieces of work. Angly’s love and friendship have always been behind my writing. Apart from that, the world’s special and simple people and all things in it inspire me to write. Not everyone can play this game of words. Only those who feel deeply, care deeply, and love deeply can be part of this game. Angly, my wife, says I am one of those sensitive people who notice everything. It is a good trait for a writer to have. A writer defines on paper the world around him, the experiences, and the things he sees. Once those things are written they outlaw the author himself.

I hope that the work that I have done will be valuable for readers. I will continue writing while there is breath in my body. I post all my writings on my blog. Anyone can visit the blog to read new pieces of writings and to stay informed of my activities. The address is http://rizwanahmedmemon.blogspot.com/. All the writings in this book and the works which I am creating now and will create in future will be on the blog

With best wishes,
Rizwan Ahmed Memon

The Second Draft of Preface. Hi. Here is the preface after edits. Please read it and help.

If you want to proofread it on lang-8, here is my link: http://lang-8.com/945171

Preface

To show the value of someone or something, people use different methods. A writer makes use of a pen to do that. When a writer wants to write about something or someone, he has different devices that he can use. He can write a story, an essay, a poem, a letter or, a text in another format. With the grace of God, I have employed many of these forms in my writing. Poems, short stories, biographies, letters, and essays have allowed me to express my emotions through words in different ways.

In this world, many stories die when men die. Not all people have the ability to preserve their thoughts for coming generations in such a way that they will exist even after their death. Everyone sees the world in their own way and has different views and beliefs. To preserve and share my ideas and experiences with the world, I have put them in the form of stories, poems, letters, essays, and biographies.


The ups and downs of life teach us lessons that we were never taught at school. They stir emotions in us and we act in peculiar ways. Sometimes we open our hearts and say what we feel; sometimes we find an outlet for our feelings and emotions. Firstly, in my story category, I have tried to write about pain, mistakes, and experiences of my own or of someone else which can be messages or lessons for coming generations. I usually take characters from my surroundings. I was in fifth grade when I penned my first story in my native language, Sindhi. After I learned English, I translated the story into it. As far biographies go, I wrote some about inanimate objects, and also a little baby who was born in my neighborhood.

Secondly, there are the letters. I really have never sent a love letter to any girl in my life, but I wrote many out of my deep emotion of love. Every man on the earth falls in the thing they call love. Only a few people show it; most hide it. I have shared my personal feelings, the feelings people tend to suppress. However, I believe one day every secret in the world will be revealed. If they aren’t, what is the use of keeping them in the heart and letting them die with us? Well, some secrets are top secrets and they really must be kept to ourselves. In June of 2013, I came to my village while on holiday from the university. In the village, I had two friends who were close to me, but because of some minor conflicts we didn’t talk or meet. I was dealing with loneliness and pain. This is when I started writing letters. Being away from my friends caused me severe heartache. In those days, I started to pour my heart out to Angly in the form of letters. The surprising thing is that these letters never reached Angly until we married. After getting married, when Angly came to know that I had been writing letters to her and that were in English, she became curious about reading them. Unfortunately, she didn’t speak English, so she couldn’t read them. I translated some of them for her in Sindhi. The things that are related to love never lose their value. These letters symbolize how deep love can be for someone when they are away from you or with you. True feelings never change. True love never ends. When you love someone, find a way to express it. Life is short, so it should be lived with love and for love. People say nowadays true love is only found in novels and stories. If it is true, it means we have changed, not the time. However, I believe there are still people who love truly.

Whenever I read these letters, my love renews and multiplies for Angly. These letters will give you feelings of healing and peace of mind if you love someone, too. I still write letters to Angly when she goes to visit her parents. You can and will be able to find the past, present, and future letters on my blog.

Third, is the poem section. When I started to jot down the words of my heart and mind, which came out of longing, separation, and the wish to be with someone, my poems were created. Poetry can provide such magic of words that even the wizard, the writer, can be surprised. Sometimes sitting under the Neem tree, sometimes in fields, and sometimes by the riverbank, the magic of my thoughts and words have surprised me. All the poems that I have written represent my different states of mind at different points of time. Happy thoughts come when you are happy, and sad ones come when you are sad.

Finally, in the essay section, I have described the values, customs and facts of the world.

I had read somewhere that “There is time and room for every word,” so I hope my writings will somehow be of some help, inspiration, instruction, pleasure, and encouragement to all the readers. Read and enjoy my thoughts and make your life better, if you can.


Ideas, beliefs, emotions, and people change with the passage of time. My pen keeps flowing, and my fingers keep typing. I create different pieces of work. Angly’s love and friendship have always been behind my writing. Apart from that, the world’s special and simple people and all things in it inspire me to write. Not everyone can play this game of words. Only those who feel deeply, care deeply, and love deeply can be part of this game. Angly, my wife, says I am one of those sensitive people who notice everything. It is a good trait for a writer to have. A writer defines on paper the world around him, his experiences, and the things he sees. Once those things are written they outlive the author himself.

I hope that the work that I have done will be valuable for readers. I will continue writing while there is breath in my body. I post all my writings on my blog. Anyone can visit the blog to read new pieces of writings and to stay informed of my activities. The address is http://rizwanahmedmemon.blogspot.com/. All the writings in this book and the works which I am creating now and will create in the future will be on the blog

With best wishes,
Rizwan Ahmed Memon

The Second Draft of Preface. Hi. Here is the preface after edits. Please read it and help.

If you want to proofread it on lang-8, here is my link: http://lang-8.com/945171

Preface

To show the value of someone or something, people use different methods. A writer makes use of a pen to do that. When a writer wants to write about something or someone, he has different devices that he can use. He can write a story, an essay, a poem, a letter or, a text in another format. With the grace of God, I have employed many of these forms in my writing. Poems, short stories, biographies, letters, and essays have allowed me to express my emotions through words in different ways.

In this world, many stories die when men die. Not all people have the ability to preserve their thoughts for coming generations in such a way that they will exist even after their death. Everyone sees the world in their own way and has different views and beliefs. To preserve and share my ideas and experiences with the world, I have put them in the form of stories, poems, letters, essays, and biographies.


The ups and downs of life teach us lessons that we were never taught at school. They stir emotions in us and we act in peculiar ways. Sometimes we open our hearts and say what we feel; sometimes we find an outlet for our feelings and emotions. Firstly, in my story category, I have tried to write about pain, mistakes, and experiences of my own or of someone else which can be messages or lessons for coming generations. I usually take characters from my surroundings. I was in fifth grade when I penned my first story in my native language, Sindhi. After I learned English, I translated the story into it. As far biographies go, I wrote some about inanimate objects, and also a little baby who was born in my neighborhood.

Secondly, there are the letters. I really have never sent a love letter to any girl in my life, but I wrote many out of my deep emotion of love. Every man on the earth falls in the thing they call love. Only a few people show it; most hide it. I have shared my personal feelings, the feelings people tend to suppress. However, I believe one day every secret in the world will be revealed. If they aren’t, what is the use of keeping them in the heart and letting them die with us? Well, some secrets are top secrets and they really must be kept to ourselves. In June of 2013, I came to my village while on holiday from the university. In the village, I had two friends who were close to me, but because of some minor conflicts we didn’t talk or meet. I was dealing with loneliness and pain. This is when I started writing letters. Being away from my friends caused me severe heartache. In those days, I started to pour my heart out to Angly in the form of letters. The surprising thing is that these letters never reached Angly until we married. After getting married, when Angly came to know that I had been writing letters to her and that were in English, she became curious about reading them. Unfortunately, she didn’t speak English, so she couldn’t read them. I translated some of them for her in Sindhi. The things that are related to love never lose their value. These letters symbolize how deep love can be for someone when they are away from you or with you. True feelings never change. True love never ends. When you love someone, find a way to express it. Life is short, so it should be lived with love and for love. People say nowadays true love is only found in novels and stories. If it is true, it means we have changed, not the time. However, I believe there are still people who love truly.

Whenever I read these letters, my love renews and multiplies for Angly. These letters will give you feelings of healing and peace of mind if you love someone, too. I still write letters to Angly when she goes to visit her parents. You can and will be able to find the past, present, and future letters on my blog.

Third, is the poem section. When I started to jot down the words of my heart and mind, which came out of longing, separation, and the wish to be with someone, my poems were created. Poetry can provide such magic of words that even the wizard, the writer, can be surprised. Sometimes sitting under the Neem tree, sometimes in fields, and sometimes by the riverbank, the magic of my thoughts and words have surprised me. All the poems that I have written represent my different states of mind at different points of time. Happy thoughts come when you are happy, and sad ones come when you are sad.

Finally, in the essay section, I have described the values, customs and facts of the world.

I had read somewhere that “There is time and room for every word,” so I hope my writings will somehow be of some help, inspiration, instruction, pleasure, and encouragement to all the readers. Read and enjoy my thoughts and make your life better, if you can.


Ideas, beliefs, emotions, and people change with the passage of time. My pen keeps flowing, and my fingers keep typing. I create different pieces of work. Angly’s love and friendship have always been behind my writing. Apart from that, the world’s special and simple people and all things in it inspire me to write. Not everyone can play this game of words. Only those who feel deeply, care deeply, and love deeply can be part of this game. Angly, my wife, says I am one of those sensitive people who notice everything. It is a good trait for a writer to have. A writer defines on paper the world around him, his experiences, and the things he sees. Once those things are written they outlive the author himself.

I hope that the work that I have done will be valuable for readers. I will continue writing while there is breath in my body. I post all my writings on my blog. Anyone can visit the blog to read new pieces of writings and to stay informed of my activities. The address is http://rizwanahmedmemon.blogspot.com/. All the writings in this book and the works which I am creating now and will create in the future will be on the blog

With best wishes,
Rizwan Ahmed Memon

Can you proofread this story? I want to organize it more.

THE BOAT BOY
Author: Rizwan Ahmed Memon

Hoping to catch a big fish, young, innocent Ahmed threw his net into the river with his little hands. While he was sitting and waiting on the bank for the fish to get into the net, he saw light across the levee coming from the city streets and houses. He had been to the city once. He had a memory in his mind of a school bus, which he had seen when his father had taken him to sell the fish there. Ahmed was still thinking about the city, when a fish gave him a start jumping up and down in the net.

Running like the wind to his boat, he screamed, “Mother, mother, look, I have caught a big fish!” His mother with a smiling face said, “Bravo son! You will be a good fisherman like your father.” At the supper time, when Ahmed’s mother gave him meal with fried fish, he asked his mother, “Mother, have you ever seen a school bus?” “Um, well, I have seen a bus, but I really haven’t seen a school bus,” replied his mother. “I guess that must be for school children,” added his mother. Ahmed said, “I saw one when I had gone to city with father. There were children of my age in it wearing strange clothes. Father had told me that it was a school bus. Also, he had told me that school is a place where a man called teacher teaches these boys and girls. “Really?” said his mother. “Yes, mother.” Ahmed replied. Ahmed kept talking about the city. While Ahmed was still talking about the city, his mother fell asleep.

The next day, when Ahmed’s father took the basket of fish to sell in the city, Ahmed said to his father that he wanted to go with him, too. His father said him to seek permission form his mother. At Ahmed’s constant imploring, his mother gave him the permission. On the way back to the river, Ahmed said to his father, “Father, why don’t we live in the city? I want to go to school on that school bus with those children.” The dark was falling and the cattle, making noise with their bells in their necks, were moving to the town. Ahmed’s father said, “See, son, it is now getting late. We must move fast to get to the river. We will talk about it at night, when we are in the boat.” Ahmed’s father in his mind kept thinking about his question.

At night, when the three of them were in the boat having supper, Ahmed’s father said to Ahmed, “Son, I want to answer your question now. God made this world and he made Adam, the first human on the earth, from the dust. Eve, the first woman, was Adam’s wife. All of us humans living in the world are offspring of Adam and Eve. If we all were rich, living in cities, studying in schools, no one would be doing the work, and the world would become unbalanced. So, God made some people rich and others poor to keep the balance of the world. If we are living here on the Indus bank in Akil in a boat, it doesn’t mean we are inferior or we are not humans. No, we all are humans. The thing is God has chosen us to be poor and play our role as poor in his world which he runs solo. One cannot have all the joys of the world. We here on the Indus bank are living our life happily. Our source of livelihood is fish, and we are thankful to God for this.”

Ahmed thought it was the will of God the way the world is and people are, so he never thought about the city again. He lived happily and enjoyed fishing and playing with other boys on the river bank.

Hi. I had wrote this essay about a year before. I want you to help me with the organization, grammar, and punctuation of this essay.

Our Success
Author: Rizwan Ahmed Memon

At some point in life man understands the true and exact purpose of life. Man considers money too important to live when young, he puts himself in the search of job the time he graduates, and the money means the world to him, his success merely is wealth. With the passage of time when he experiences different kinds of circumstances he realizes that there are natural rules and regulations for the universe. No man gets more than what is destined for him, no man dies before the time set for his death. Thus, it occurs to him that there are so many things that are important as well than just job and money.

God created this universe and set laws for it, if He had made all the people rich, no one would have cared for others and there would have been no one who would have done the work. Likewise, if He had made all the human beings poor, still the balance of human life would not have been equal. In order to make the circle of life revolve, God made some people rich and others poor.

Being poor, is not a crime. In fact, God has called those poor, honest workers His friends. In the condition of poverty man feels the pain of other fellow beings quite well; his eyes shed tears if they see the suffering of other humans, and his heart remains soft like a rose. On the other hand, rich man might not feel the same pain; he might not perceive the suffering that way, his eyes might not get teary; his heart might have grown into a stone. It is not true for all the rich men, but often the rich men are considered and observed insensitive to the suffering of other fellow beings.

If the rich man has palaces, wealth, and attendants all around him, it does not mean the poor man without these will die. Food, clothing, and shelter are needs of all humans, and some people have the best forms of these and some have less good, and the life of all people goes on. At the end of the day, nobody takes anything with himself when he dies; they leave all what they have in this world and go alone, and all that treasured wealth is passed to someone else.

In this time and age, a baby’s profession is chosen before the baby scarcely opens the eyes. Whether she would be a doctor, a lawyer, or an engineer is decided the day baby is born. And as she grows up she listens thousands of times what she has to be, and to be successful in the field that her parents had chosen for her is all that matters to her. Some children choose the professions of their own choice as they get mature, and they give their all to be what they want to. Setting goals is not bad thing, getting skills and knowledge is not bad thing; this is a sign of a wise and practical man, finding livelihood is necessary and all men have to, but man must not be greedy and must not spend all of his life in only collecting the more and more wealth. Success and failure are parts of life. Man must be content with what God has made him, with what he has given him. Man’s real success is when he is dear to Allah, when he is a good human being; when he has humanity, sympathy, modesty, and generosity. When he has a good character, good habits, has fear of God. That is real, everlasting success. A lawyer, doctor, or an engineer may work for years but one day he would retire, if today you are the president of your country, tomorrow would be someone else, this worldly success is temporary. A really successful man makes the most of the things, wealth, and skills that God has given him; he employs all the powers for the welfare of others; he shares the knowledge and wealth that he possesses with other needy people. Thus, he makes himself the one dear to God and makes and lives in the heart of his fellow beings and gets the perpetual success in this world and the hereafter.