NOT so long ago, I was 5-years-old. It was 1974. We lived in a large villa in Murabba, Riyadh, behind the first (now old) passport office. On a busy day, one could see several Yemenis waiting outside the passport office in a line that almost reached the road.

Riyadh, in those days, was a small city and Murabba (square) was the center point, where many royals too lived. The main road in Murabba was Washem road. I can say it was probably the only main road then. It's also the road that saw Riyadh's first flyover.

It was built right in front my eyes. Parallel to our residential area and across the Wahsem road was a road that led to the main shopping areas – Al-Wazir, Al-Khazzan and Al-Batha. Those were "The Olaya" and "Sulaymania" during that time.

This was the Riyadh I grew up in.

Our villa was three stories high with two gardens, a huge backyard, four servant quarters, and was surrounded by nine big trees. The rent was SR15,000 per year. It remained that much for years until one day it became SR60,000 per year. On the right, was the villa of Sheikh Abdul Razzaq Al-Mishal. I had no idea what he did, but I knew he was a big man. On our left, resided Ammo Abdullah (that's how we called him – Uncle Abdullah) and his eight kids of all sizes. He drove a taxi -- a yellow Datsun. Opposite our villa was Ammo Abdul Aziz. He was a TV presenter who did children's shows. We watched him every other day on TV that had an antenna like the horns of a moose.

It was 1974. My little brother was just born and the celebrations were on. I was the excited older brother sharing the news with my buddies, the kids of Ammo Abdullah. We would run around the neighborhood, bother the Yemenis (who would play with us not minding our teasing), and chase cats, all in little white thobes. Sheikh Abdul Razzaq's wife would send her maid every day to ask my mother to visit her and bring me along.

Her older daughters and sons would pamper me and she would gift me a lot of cakes. I was their favorite! The eldest son, Shehab, would tell me "Ali, ya Shaytan Anta!" (Ali, what a brat you are!).

That was because I would take out air from the tires of his new car every other day. He would shout, "Lesh ya Ali, Lesh?!!" (Why O Ali, Why?!). But he would just smile my mischief away. No one seemed to mind the little brats of Murabba. And I was one of the prime ones.

When we faced water shortage, my father would send his man – Shamsuddin, a Kashmiri – to fetch a water tanker. The water tank would be brought on a donkey cart owned by a Yemeni. To think, it seems like I lived in a different century! But this is something I saw and remember.

To make a telephone call to his mother, my father would have to first make a booking. The operator would call back in a week's time to give the line. My father would tell me that when he came in the 1960s, it would take a month or more. A week's wait was new found luxury back then!

Every Friday, we would go to King Faisal's mosque. He would come there with only two guards. He was tall, graceful and kind. A man, from whose eyes compassion flowed. A man, who prayed so deep and beautifully that you would feel as if he had a special relationship with Allah (and Allah knows best).

When he prayed for rain, it would rain the same day, if not that same moment! He would wave as he would leave in his car to a nation that absolutely loved and adored him.

I remember that sad night when there was only recitation of the Qur'an on TV. We heard sirens all around us. My mother asked Shamsuddin to go out and check. He came back crying. He broke down. "Today, Riyadh has been orphaned," he said. "Today, King

Faisal left us." All of Riyadh wept. The year was 1975. I too wept. And I still get tears when I remember those moments. King Faisal left us so suddenly, without warning, illness or signs of death. King Faisal's office and court was close to our place too.

I was hurt for many years until I read the Qur'an and hoped in my heart that he was Insha Allah in a better place. Malik Faisal, may Allah bless you and exalt you to a high station! We loved you and we still love you.

I remember the powerful Prince Fahd (the late king), the majestic Prince Abdullah (present king), and the handsome Prince Sultan all weeping their hearts out when King Faisal died. King Faisal's doctors were family friends and what they told us was heartbreaking!

Riyadh grew up with me. I lived in that house till I turned 17. The Olaya district I live in today was our picnic spot then. The Shehab who I used to tease so much is now a director at the Saudi Chamber of Commerce. I don't know where others went. I hope they read this and find me one day.

Life was simple. As time passed, more people started coming to Saudi Arabia. The passport office was removed from there. We too left that villa. Huge buildings started popping up. There were new policies, ideas and rules. I had to leave for higher studies. For 10 years, from 1987-97, I lived abroad to study and discover life in other countries. My brother followed me. My parents moved into an apartment. My aunts and uncles migrated to America. Life had all of a sudden changed.

I would come back every year to a bigger Riyadh marked by new buildings, roads and neighborhoods. In my 40 years of life, I have seen centuries of work accomplished within decades here.

There are many more tales of Riyadh that I could tell, and I will tell Insha Allah. I will disclose about the Mystical Ghabbash, an Abyssinian man who would walk barefoot to the mosque in scorching sun. I will tell you about the beautiful peacock that sat on a princess's palace roof and about my 30 cats and 200 pigeons. I will also tell you about the beautiful white horse of a prince that would dance for me. Such memories cannot be forgotten

And Riyadh, I have every right over you. We, after all, grew up together.