It was the year 1982. We were living in Kuwait — one of the richest gulf regions in the Middle East. As it was our first experience, I was so excited and fascinated to see the foreigners, the unusual culture, unique commodities, different life styles and the shopping centres. You got everything except the parents — you pay for it and get it! It was a rich city wherein the multi-national facets could be seen everywhere — the British, the Americans, the Africans, and of course the Indians. It was the Ramadan time, and the people regardless of religion used to keep fasting (Eid-al-Fitr). Once the fast was broken at sunset, they happily enjoyed their sweets and dinner. During this time so many Palestinians and the other poor people used to approach and demand money. Just like that they would come and knock the door and demand. ** We were living in a place called Salmiya in a multi-story building, and our flat was in the first floor. Straight down to our flat, on the ground floor, lived a young Egyptian couple who had a lovely daughter. Our son and their daughter were playing together, and in fact the couple were so helpful by nature. She used to sew some dresses for me, and her husband was a carpenter who helped in making the show case for us. They were hard-working too. One day — it was night time and we almost started sleeping. "Drrrrrrrr"… I could hear the calling bell sound. Again after a while there was a sound as if somebody were knocking the door heavily. My husband fell asleep, and I was really frightened. The bell sound during the sleeping hours made me irritated. My husband warned me not to open it as it could be the people who wanted to demand money. I simply shouted, "Hey… Maakku Maakku… Rhoo Rhoo!" I repeatedly said this — which meant "No… No… Go away." I didn't bother to open the door thereafter. I switched off the light and went to sleep. * It was morning — and as usual I got up on time to wash the outside of our flat. Oh! What did I see? What to say… All our clothes were folded nicely and kept over the newspaper neatly. I just forgot to take the clothes that were drying in our balcony; due to heavy wind, all the clothes fell down to the Egyptian's flat side — and no wonder, that lady came that night to give our clothes. I only mistook her as a Palestinian, and shouted in Arabic to get away from there. I felt bad and immediately said sorry. That nice lady gently hugged me and greeted me with her wild smile. "Oh! Nothing much happened. Don't feel bad — and no need to say sorry." ** It was a big lesson. Under any circumstances we should not jump into hasty conclusions. And we have to think twice before we comment on anything. — Banooravi