Sister

She wanted everything perfect and definitely gave a lot of effort to maintain it that way. It is not easy being an eldest kid in the family. As far as I can drift my mind way back, she has not been less than second mother to me and my other sister. My mother told me that she carried me everywhere in our neighborhood with her tiny hands and arms around me, although we don't have much of an age difference. We definitely share a lot of similarities. She is a calm lady, very soft spoken and doesn't get angry very often and most of all she is not greedy at all. As far as I can remember, when we were small , if she had sweets with her, she always shared it with two siblings. I have to admit, I was definitely the opposite. I ate everything by myself, every single chance I got. She wanted everything clean. In our three storied House, she cleaned it from top to bottom almost every minute, when she was at home and not at school. I was always scared when I came back home from the school, because my sister would have been cleaning like any other day and I had to check if my shoes weren't dirty , if they were, she would open her eyes wide and make an angry face like Ursula , one of the villains in the little mermaid. Not only me , but my father , other sister and visitors were scared with her just like me .I still remember the way she used to shower me. She rubbed soap about twenty times before she was finally done cleaning me officially. I often thought when will she ever get tired with it. She never got tired but came the day , when she got married and went to her husband's home. This day was possibly the day , that house, cried like never before. The sister that was with us all the time , went away to her new home and the house definitely lost its older perfection. Our grandmother died at a very early age , when I was just few years old. My oldest sister was probably the one who got chance to spent time with our grandmother. It is not always that bad to grow up as an eldest kid. She knew her perhaps better than any of us. My mother told me that my grandmother loved my eldest sister more than us. I couldn't support the fact any less as my eldest sister is probably the most sweetest person in the world and an amazing human being. She was always there for her family when there was a need and she still knows her responsibilities more than any of us. She even gave us two wonderful little kids. I remember waiting anxiously outside the hospital door like others for the arrival of my born to be Niece. The moment I could never forget in my entire life and probably one of the most beautiful moment known to the man, I was probably the most happiest person in the world seeing a tiny little baby inside an incubator, she had a tiny lips, big eyes and small fingers like that of a mouse .Although my baby Niece is no longer a baby Niece ,it is still hard for me to picturise her bigger than that. Human nature and life is wonderful in that matter.

Winter thoughts

As i went out to my balcony, freezing European winter struck me hard without even showing its mercy. Cold wind blowing from the north left

me goose bumped . My teeths trembeled , my eyes went all red at once and my nose had no sensations left. It was not a bad day after all. I

could see somewhere far into the horizon evening sun setting , glorifying the sky with decoration, decoration like a glittering beauty with

ornaments everywhere. I once read a story by Dylan Thomas " The Three Days Blow" , dark sky , faint of cloud and the winter wind blowing

turned the scenario just like in the story, all that was missing were Nick and Bill . It is one of those days, where you enjoy sitting

next to a bonfire as we used to do in those good old days back in Kathmandu, with everyone, the loved ones , friends and families around

it. Human will always remain a Human. I do enjoy little things in life though. I get highly inspired by it. I love the smell of smoke from

a freshly chopped Bonfire woods. When i close my eyes and take a deep breath , it drifts me back in time. Time before i was born, time

before everything that we see around us. Time before the time itself. I miss my old home , the home in Bhatbhateni, where i was a small

boy, free from the world. I looked at clear dark winter sky and counted the stars until i could count no more. The Bonfire smoke rose up

high and the floating ashes everywhere gave me the feeling of a freefall, freefall from the world , i wanted to leave the world so

desparately for a while. I put my head on my mothers lap. The warm smell of her clothes always gave me a feeling, if there was a heaven it

was nothing other than her smell.
Harvest moon behind those trees of my old home, glew the old street of Bhatbhateni. Although there was no electricity during those dry

winter days, Nature held us,when technology failed. I still remember going to the shop at night, trembeled with fear, fear because of all

those ghostly stories that i heard from the neighbourhood kids , when we used to play hide and seek. Light from the vechiles always

comforted me. I was always happy when someone visited us. My mother has a big family. There was always a visitor. I loved my cousins. I

wanted them to stay at our place. I forced them somehow to stay by hiding their shoes. Without shoes it was impossible for them to leave

in those cold winter nights. In our small room , we all cousins slept together, telling stories. Even at the age of ten, sometimes we

talked about Politics, Arts and even about the girls from our school. I meet them after all these years,it's amazing to see that we haven't

changed at all. We still enjoy talking like we did a long time ago. Our topics haven't even changed, although we are all grown ups now.The

bond of blood is one of the purest form of bond known . It is beautiful the way we are created. Although we have a short lifespan in this

very world, it is perfect in its own way. Everything that lives short has its own value. It is us who make our short life much more

complicated than it should be actually.
A very good friend of mine , that i met recently shares much more similar thoughts as i do. We talk sometimes about history of Europe and misery that people faced during the World War. I picturise myself during those cold winter days, where you were captured like an animal and sent to a concentration camp until your blood froze up and you were thrown like a garbage inside an oven, alive. Some victims even managed to survive , which is a miracle in itself. World lost alot of potential people during the war. I even picturise people like Anne Frank , who died at age of 14 and left a beautiful yet heart touching diary, that reminded how much sufferings she underwent.World did lost a beautiful writer like her and lost alot of other beautiful people. I never go to holocaust memorial or holocaust sites because i have a feeling that either i would break down and torn into pieces realising all the suffering that those people went through or if i wouldnot realise it , it would be highly disrespectful in its own way.
But yet history is a history that should be taken into the consideration but the most important lesson of life is the life itself. I am proud to be alive .. ..

I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show. ~Andrew Wyeth

Yatra ! The Journey

It did suck blood without giving its victim a hint of it and it was everywhere. It reminded me of all those blood suckers in the society who actually sucked life out of innocent citizens by corrupting in one way or the other. Beautiful country like Nepal got devastated in its infrastructure and economy. Kathmandu has millions of Rupees worth Houses with no Roads in front of it or those which are on very miserable condition. In ruler areas of Nepal the condition is even worse. There are no job opportunities, no infrastructure, and no hope. Nepal is way ahead in terms of equal right issues (The phrase I stole from one of my friend Harry, who had taken beautiful pictures while he was in Nepal and he took a picture of the lady, thin outlook and earning life by working day and night breaking stones). Children as small as seven year old carry water on a vessel, twice their weight walking few kilometers every day. I consider myself somehow lucky that I got such opportunities that not everyone from small country like Nepal get. I could write few pages on these issues but at the end of the day, it would make no changes and influences on the situation.

It was pretty warm day after a long night of rain. I and Eva planned to show some of our hiking skills. Our target was to reach a small school at the top of the hill, somewhat above 2000 meters above Sindhuli. The view was breathtaking and marvelous. I did take my umbrella with me because you would never know when the downpour starts. There were two options in front of us, we could either take a long route which was slippery or the short one where you had to cross a river, not big in breadth or that deep(water would reach above your knees anyways) but it had some current to take you away. We decided to take rather a long one. We had to cross wheat fields taking a narrow pathway in-between the field, rather used by farmers to walk through their field without harming their harvest before reaching anywhere near so call a proper street way. There were about billion of frogs and tadpole on the pathway, who would jump away constantly as soon as you made each step which pretty much scared Eva. My shoes where covered in mud and it was hardly walk-able. There was billions of Mimosa Pudica, so called touch-me-not plant on the way which would constantly hide their leaves by joining them with each other with each further step we took. I could see farmers working on their farm, or the ones collecting fodder for their cattle.

Mothers love for her child is probably the most spiritual and purest form of love. From the time of opening of the eyes to the very world, mother is the first person that a child is programmed to connect to more than anyone else. Depending on a situation of have or have-not, she is always there to provide for all the needs of her child and nothing could be a better example other than seeing a mother feeding her two children on the way, who seemed pretty malnourished and had torn pieces of clothes to wrap their bodies but from my opinion it is not her fault, it is the society that separates have from have-nots .

Jackfruit, wild mushrooms, and varieties of plants and insects camouflaged from human described Mother Nature in much wider sense. After walking about an hour we reached to a water source (a water fall) with fresh water right down the Himalayas. We talked with two women on the way asking to help us with the way to the top of the hill. They were pretty surprised on seeing two strangers lost. They enquired about us a bit and were surprise to hear that I was living in Berlin; she even asked where it was. I told her it was in Europe and she asked me where the Europe was. It was pretty hard for me to explain it to her so that’s why I just told her that my aunt lives down the village and my family lives in Kathmandu.

We reached an old Shiva temple at the top of one of the hill (Shiva शिव Siva, meaning "auspicious one") is a major Hindu Deity, and is the destroyer god or transformer among the trimurti, the Hindu Trinity of the primary aspects of the divine. God Shiva is a yogi who has notice of everything which happens in the world and is the main aspect of life. Yet one with great power lives a life of a sage and Mount Kailash. In the Shaiva tradition of Hinduism, Shiva is seen as the Supreme God. In the Smarta tradition, he is regarded as one of the five primary forms of god. Followers of Hinduism who focus their worship upon Shiva are called Shaivas (Sanskrit Śaiva) ).

It was an old temple far away from civilization yet beautiful. Just below the temple there was an enormous river with huge stones on its pathway, probably each stone was twice my height and there was a dense forest around the river. I couldn’t help myself from taking tons of pictures; we already walked about 3 hours continuously to reach there. We were pretty tired but excited at the same time in reaching one of the coolest place on earth. If I had to explain heaven, I couldn’t think of anything better. The weather was getting worse, black cloud covered us from the top. There was no option for us than to head back although we were just about a kilometer away from our destination.

We thought of rather taking a plain route this time, following the river which was not easy. We had to take pathways between the rice fields which were pretty wet due to the rain. Soil was moist and had great probability to slip down. I slipped down few times, crashing right to the field which made me pretty much * Muddy Guy*, there were few occasions where we had to walk right through the river but we managed to find the perfect spots where water was not that deep . After walking about three hours straight we managed to come back to the right pathway.

Rainy season is perfect time for the local fishermen to catch fish. I could see beautiful sun setting somewhere below the horizon making the sky look like a fine lady decorated with marvelous pearls and jewels. We asked the fishermen if we could come back later and buy some fish from them. They had no reason to say no.

Eva got bitten again. Thin hay like structure just bit her. It didn’t spare me either. There was blood sucking leaches everywhere. It did suck blood without giving its victim a hint of it and it was everywhere. It reminded me of all those blood suckers……

The pain of the adventure is probably the most beautiful pain in the world as long as you are alive and the scars left behind drifts you back to the point of time, when adrenalin reached to its peak and the world stopped for a while. Its was planned spontaneously. The god's highway was awaiting for us. This was probably one of the most dangerous roads in the world, not bigger than 12 feet in breadth where hardly a bus could pass and furthermore it was steep ,rising vertically above the surface. There were no driving rules, traffic or any sort of security. If you would fall down the hill to the river below, none could find your bones in 100 years to come.
Our destination was Sindhuli, one of the 75 districts in Nepal and about an Area of 2300 square Km. The place has a great historical significance. Sindhuli is the place where British Soldiers were defeated for the first time in Asia in 1767A.D . Surrounded by beautiful lush greeneries and hills perhaps it was impossible for British soldiers to defeat brave Nepali Gurkha's attack , who knew their land very well. Sindhuli is also the place where my mother was born.
Trip to Nepal had never been same after meeting Eva who had recently arrived in Nepal after her years in London and was very much enthusiastic as i was in traveling to Sindhuli seeking adventure and meeting relatives who had been living there all their lives. During the house party at Raju Uncle's House ( one of my mother's five brothers), I came in contact with my cousin Sagar Dhakal who lived in Sidhuli and was happy to take us with him on the next day. We had no reason to say no. There began our trip at around 12 pm from Kathmandu and just then onwards i found myself in solitude after leaving crowdy Kathmandu. I was dissolved into the Mother Nature and Mother Nature was so close to me. I could see simple life, farmers, people with no big desires. The Western World is far too complicated in this matter. I was surrounded just with materials here in the *Wild West*, where people worked 18 hrs a day and took 1 month vacation to prove that they can get away from their lives. But at the end of the day stone remains a stone.
We reached Rata Mata, the place where soil was red coloured and very slippery during the monsoon. Before we reached Rata mata ,we did cross few watery roads (I don't have a perfect word to describe. River flew through the road and we needed to take the rivery way). There were some road blocks on the way due to the landslide on the previous night. It was extremely dangerous to travel on this time of year. There was a bus accident just few weeks ago on the same route we took killing about 70 people on board. I can't describe how hard my heart was pumping . On the way, my mind remembered all those big european cities i have visited and meanwhile i was at the end of nowhere. I began to picturise European cities on the very place. How badly would it have ruined the beauty,turning mother nature into a materie.
We had a very nice Driver. He controlled the speed of the vechile and allowed us to get off at places on the way so that we could take some pictures and strech our legs. It was normally 6hrs drive from Kathmandu but it took us a bit more. It was already dark and we were just about to reach Sindhuli when it started raining very heavily . Mountain road was unvisible due to the fog and of course there was no street lights. The driver showed some skills. My cousin and i started talking about european history, world war and development after the war or other random stuffs , when our vechile was heading towards its destination.

The Sky Over Berlin

April 19,2006 . I can never forget the date when my mother told me with tears in her eyes “ I hope to see you again in future “. It was time to say goodbye. I had never left her before. I tried to be strong outside but inside I was dying. I wished these last moments stopped. I wished time stopped forever so that I never had to leave her. I told her hugging her tightly “ I will meet you again” until I could feel her tears covered my chest. I did not even leave her but I already missed her. Car headed towards the Airport. On my way, I could see my entire nineteen years of life and the time when I had my mother next to me. I could die hundred times just to see her million dollar smile. I could jump off the highest cliff, just to smell her clothes that I had been smelling from the time I opened my eyes. I wished I could rebirth and live the very moment when she grabbed my tiny fingers on the way from school telling me lovely stories. She covered me on those harse rainy days until she was soaked with water. Now I was on my own. My life was never the same again. I felt like a soldier going to a war, filled with feelings about never to see his loved ones again. I looked at the sky and took the picture with my eyes, just to remember that day when I left my mother, just to remember her again. I always had sky with me, so had my mother. I thought if I missed her I would look at the sky and get the feeling that she is looking at the same sky to remember me. The plane took off. I could see my hometown far below glittering in the night. It was time to say goodbye to a place which made me who I am, the place which gave me my identity, the place which I could proudly say belongs to me. The place of my ancestors.

Life is never the way you wish it to be. Why does life force us to sacrifice the things that we love the most? And why does it have to be me?. I knew no body in this foreign land just my uncle whom I hadn’t seen for 12 years. I came to a land which had no similarities with the land that I had lived for 19 years. I was alone in this German world. I had no language, no friends, no family. I sacrificed everything. Nobody even cared or knew who I was. I was just a random stranger who got noticed very well from the time he landed on the airport. Everyone looked at me as if I came from another world. Those strange eyes which looked at me from top to bottom,those curious eyes still haunts me at night. My unstoppable stopwatch life started from the time I landed in Berlin. I looked at those houses, modern life, highly developed society, different people , far different from the ones that I had been spending warm sunny day on the field playing cricket, or the ones that I knew from the time when the word time came to my consciousness. Life was like a race. Everyone was running everywhere to get everything. My small society brain never figured out or figures out, “ WHAT FOR?”. Perhaps for virtual satisfaction but I would be more satisfied to spent my time on the green field of my grand parents , where my grandfather wakes up at 4 o clock in the morning to milk his cows , and smell of firewood from the kitchen of my grandmother where she is cooking lovely dishes. I wished I could turn back time.

Sky over Berlin always comforts me. Sky over Berlin reminds me of my mother looking at me from far away land and sends me heavenly smell of her clothes. Sky over Berlin brings me back to my childhood, my loved ones. She whispers in my ears I care for you , cheer up you are alive …

24 hrs in Venice

I don’t really plan before I travel somewhere. Perhaps it is because I am one of the cheapest traveler of all time. I generally prefer Summer because in the worse case Scenario, I could sleep on the Street corner, Park or I don't sleep at all. My Backpack doesn't really take whole bunch of time to get packed perhaps because I have nothing apart from clothes and other general cleansing stuffs. I have basically been asocial my entire life. I never really had very good friends at school. They talked to me either because they were bored or they had nothing better to do. I still try to socialize myself with other people around me but it gets boring after sometime, perhaps because they find out I am not being myself or I am pretending to be someone I am not, which is understandable because I can be a very bad actor. I try to be good but it doesn’t always work the way you plan. When I was a kid , I was not allowed to play with other kids in the neighborhood. My mother was bit too cautious that they were going to spoil me. But I don't regret it because of that, I have learned to live alone and plan things alone. Apart from that I don't have to wait for someone to travel with me because it doesn't really matter nevertheless. I sometimes feel really lonely and look for a silent place somewhere under the horizon and above the earth where I can just sit and look at the nature until I get back to myself. Travel for me is defined as the another perfect source to make me believe that I am breathing and amongst other billions of breathing souls around me, which does make me feel comfortable.

Ryan Air has actually twisted the definition of Air travel in Europe offering the Plane tickets at the fair of 0€ & you can get sometimes ticket for 50€,both ways, anywhere around the Europe, which made poor students like me, possible to travel as well. Summer of 2010 Friday, I woke up and checked the internet and alas ! There it was! plane ticket to Venice for 55€ , same day and after 3 Hours after my Check time. I quickly booked a seat. I have no idea, what came up in my mind. Weather was beautiful outside, clear sky, faint of cloud, warm wind from east blowing directly into my room. I just grabbed my backpack and filled it quickly with the stuffs I needed, basically clothes and other general items, quickly put on old pair of jeans and t shirt. There I was traveling to Venice with zero idea. I rushed to Airport , checked in and there I was flying. Just about 3 hrs ago I was in my room and there I was in the sky in between those clouds. I had return flight next day same time in the morning.

I finally arrived in the Italian Soil. I had seen Venice in the National Geographic Channel's Travel and Living. I was really inspired and wanted to see it right before my eyes for a long time. Historical City of Venice is Pretty small and I think 24 hrs is more than enough to roam around and see the important sites. Its amazing that Italians managed to build up their City just above the water. I wanted to ride Boat above the water of Grand Canal for ever ! Amazingly there I was sharing boat with other three Americans from Kentucky next to me and we were all on our way towards St. Marks Square. St. Marks Sq. is the heart of Venice with lots of Churches and other historical stuffs, where you can basically take photos whole day long. I was hungry and the city was moreover freaking expensive and no way I was going to spend more Euros than my Plane ticket for a Pizza in a Restaurant. Finally I found Mc Donalds, which was like finding a Gold Chest in the heart of Desert. I ate like someone who hadn’t seen food for days. Then I sat in the Square below some fountain, enjoying the sun looking around at the place and trying to save the smell of the place inside me to remember it for a long time. Walking through Basilica(Perhaps there was something important inside that church because there was a huge number of people outside trying to get in). I did not really care because I was not into churches. I basically love the art people make their houses rather than church which I can see everywhere. I walked right next through Basilica via Porta della Carta . I could enjoy the magnificent views of the island of San Giorgio Maggiore ( I don’t know if I pronounced that correctly). It was awesomely pleasant sight. I then came to Bridge of Sighs . On my background I could hear pleasant music of Street Orchestra. I walked then about an hour to Rialto Bridge where one could see splendid view of Grand Canal. It was getting dark and I had no place to stay and I did not really want to sleep because next morning I had flight back and I could sleep whole way through or after I reach home. I did decide though to have an Italian Pasta in a cheap restaurant I could find as a dinner which tasted normal. I got back to the square and looked around the city in the night. I can't explain how beautiful it was . No words can possibly explain the sight. I enjoyed the night life as much in Prague when I was with Manindra back in 2008 . It was an amazing experience as well. Last I could remember was waking up suddenly in the square ,the next morning. I rushed back to the Airport and grabbed my flight back..

Paper, Stick and Stones

Pieces of Sticks and Stones were all I needed to create the characters of my own. Our mind is miraculous and has its own universe within. It was not always possible for me as a kid to get toys, only sometimes on rare occasions. I was always fascinated by great Warriors and Rulers, lost somewhere in time and history but they always lived for me. I fought some great battles in my time. Great warriors and Gladiators fought for me in the form of sticks. World war was nothing in-comparison to sticks war. My balcony was divided into many kingdoms, each ruled by separate rulers. Rulers had their ultimate goal to capture enemy's territories and of course they gave their best to defend the land of their loved ones.

If I had more than two hands, I would make more than two warriors fight against one another simultaneously but sadly just two worlds collided on each battle. It was fierce and brutal, leaving ink spots and broken sticks everywhere at the end of each day. It was not always easy for those warriors. They had to fight in the most harsh scenarios. Sometimes water flooded the kingdom, thrown by my mother after washing her vegetables. They also had many obstacles in the form of dishes scattered everywhere on our balcony after our meal. But they fought their best for the ultimate pride and glory of their being.

Sticks War was an ultimate example of Darwin's Survival of the Fittest. Thicker, fitter Sticks mostly won the battle. Thin lads managed to escape and hid themselves inside an Ant's hole. Poor ants faced chaos and ran everywhere to save themselves from being attacked by an uninvited stick warrior. The goal was not always about occupying enemy territory. Sometimes warriors fought for the women from different territories as I was greatly influenced by real life warriors from the school , who constantly gave love letters and fought with other guys for the sake of same woman.

Some warriors had special powers . They could throw fire arrows. Fire arrows were special form of arrows mostly stolen from my kitchen (The matchbox). Just because of sticks warriors , I got into a lot of troubles every time my mother found out about it.

Some warriors could even fly on a paper airplane and attack opponents from the sky as in the Blitzkrieg. But they always had risk flying over the fire arrow throwers who burned them down and scattered their ashes all over the kingdom.

Life is all about imagination. Its really amazing how a kid can generate his own story and characters. Every time I saw my nephew or niece playing in the similar manner,I simply adored looking at them for hours because I could somehow feel their enjoyment for myself. No matter how hard we try to be mature in life, there is always a kid inside of everyone. Imagination allows a kid to practice real-life skills. From shopping at a pretend grocery store to assigning roles and dialogue to dolls or puppets, his pretend play helps him practice and apply new learning and better understand how those skills are used in the real world.

Let an imagination alone take us everywhere

Somewhere i belong

Backpack was ready ,so was my Guitar. I hadn’t seen her for two years now. Qatar Airways ticket laid on bed , alongside my Passport. My Airplane was scheduled at 8 am departure from Tegel Berlin, the next day. I couldn't sleep. Sweaty and anxiously, I rolled over and over again in bed. I missed her. I missed her smile. The most beautiful smile in this entire world. I missed sleeping next to her in those cold winter days where she would rather cover me without caring for herself.

She told many beautiful stories. My food always tasted better with the mixture of imaginary characters of her stories in it. I missed her voice. Her love to me was pure, without any expectations , carefree and harmless.

Bus came 10 minutes late and then I had to change train as well and meantime it rained on me and I obviously did not carry my umbrella with me before deciding to fly fourteen hours to the next end of the World. Then I remembered her sheltering me under an umbrella my way back from school, when it monsoon rained and flooded the river on the way . Water came up to her knees but for her the main priority was to shelter me on her arms so that I did not get wet.

Finally I reached Airport and miraculously on time since my train came earlier than expected. Then

there I flew, slowly leaving the German soil. I glimpsed out of my airplane window, where I could see Berlin below the clouds, getting smaller and smaller and finally vanishing into the eternity. I kept on looking at her until she vanished.

It was a strange feeling because I did not know which side to take. Berlin was home to me as well and I felt pain leaving her as well. It was a strange feeling of having everything without really having anything.

I remembered her buying me a plastic airplane and she told me' one day you are going to fly all around the world' I played and played with it until I broke it the next day. She was not very happy. I never grew up in front of her. We human never grow up, we just pretend and try to show the society that we are mature. Our entire life is a drama.

I reached Doha, the Capital city of Qatar where I had to change my next flight home. I was getting closer and closer and heart was beating faster and faster. Adrenaline pumped like a meteor striking the ground. At that very moment, I remembered the last time I saw her. She tried hard to be strong and not to show any pain in her eyes before I left. But inside I am sure she died.

Finally I could see Kathmandu getting bigger and bigger below the clouds, then at that very moment I remembered Berlin , my next home which got lost somewhere into the horizon.

'This is a story of a man who doesn’t belong anywhere'

Kite

The smell of cardamon out of my Mamu's freshly prepared traditional Nepali tea always woke me up each morning. My mother decorated our dining table that day with freshly fried Shel-roti, Patre and other sorts of sweets as Dashain and Tihar(Traditional Nepali Festivals) were just corridors away. I went out to the balcony of our old house, where I closed my eyes and took a deep breath through my nostrils into my lungs, that smell ,I can never compare it with any other smells in the world, the smell of being home. The sun played hide and seek behind those trees and norished me with its warmth through those tiny spaces between the branches.I could see shoemakers,bottle collectors & vegetable venders on the street carrying their day to day job everywhere around the town, making their living and fighting for their survival amongst the fittest. My eyes could photograph everything. Our eyes are actually better than a camera. Easy to take a photograph through it and even easier to save it forever in your brain.

My Father was always fascinated by flying objects. I remember me and my father staying late in the evening at the Airport and looking at all those different kinds of Airplanes flying around. He could even tell the model of each and every Boeing , quite fascinating though . My father loved his motorbike. The Honda Model of CD100, he loved more than anything else, which accompanied him and my mother on its back,every other weekend to the Hills and Parks around the valley. Old fellas always loved adventures.

Bua( Father) took me and my sister Anima to Ashan Bazar ( Pretty crowded center of Kathmandu) that day with me sitting in front on the Fuel tank of his motorbike and my sister Anima on his back. Mamu made a huge shopping list that covered everything from Vegetables, Fresh meat to the things that Krishna and Shiva(Gods) needed to get satisfied. We finished shopping our list. Bua saw in our face that we both were pretty much starving. He took us to the nearby Shop where we got Jery-swari to eat.

Bua loved kites. Kathmandu sky covered with fighting kites always made it a battle field. Bua planned that whole weekend we were going to fly kites and go on a weaponless war in the sky. He bought a special kind of a string that tailors used , usually to sew a mattress. He bought sabudana ( rice look alike stuff) which gave a sticky glue when cooked. When we came home,my mother was ready to serve her delicious food placed on the table.After our lunch, it was time to hit the sky.

But before that Bua gathered some old glasses around our home, crushed it and made a powder out of it, giving it a sugary look. Its pretty insane when I say it right now but he collected some grass snails from our garden too as it gave extra slippery liquid, when cooked.My mother wouldn’t let him harm the insects so we did it secretly on the garden, and cooked it in a pot on which we used to feed our dog(the only dog we had, which later bit me and escaped). We cooked sabudana, snail and glass together until it was ready to be applied to the string. Then flew my dad the kite and my job was to apply the mixture to the string, so that wind dried the amalgam in the sky.

We were already fierce fighters from the very beginning. We defeated about three or four kites from the start. I was so excited that every time my father won the kite battle ,I used to shout with joy so that my neighbors could hear that my father defeated the opponent. I could imagine the feeling of a soldier winning a battle for his country, not caring about the personal desire, love or even life, but it was same feeling for me, as a boy winning a kite battle. There were kites everywhere, the kites that lost the battle flew slowly down to the earth, where kids gathered around to get it . There were sometimes battle amongst the kids to get the kite, I got into a lot of kite troubles as well, which my mother hated. I used to get beaten by my mother with a rubber pipe that was used for watering the flower and trust me it hurts .

I remember that for going to the top of our house, there was never a ladder. Bua used to climb up and ask my mother to pass me from bottom so that he could drag me to the top. It was pretty risky though , a small failure could have lead me or him into a serious accident but he was confident. We flew kite all day long until we finally lost. My face got all red and the feeling of sadness pinched my heart.

It was already evening in Kathmandu with cold south wind blowing right through us. My mother came below asking my dad to pass me to her, with her lovely milliondollar smile. She put me a sweater and took me inside. Somewhere around in the neighbourhood i could hear evening bell ringing.. like every other evening..

Goodbye Sagarnath

I could clearly see worries on her face. I have known my Grandmother for quite sometime now. She had always been a bold lady with a strict tone to her voice. I loved my grandmother when she was tough . Now she was a different lady with a weak personality. Boldness seemed to have faded away. The person whom she loved and lived together for her entire life, laid motionless on bed paralysed, not even being able to move his eyelids. Honestly speaking , even though I was a kid, I could still feel , how painful It was for her to live her life with the fact that the person whom she loved the most was about to leave her until and unless a miracle happened. Miracle however happens only in storybooks, not in real life.

Me, my mother and my grandmother were on our way to Sagarnath, leaving my Grandfather under the care of my uncle back in Kathmandu because we human never give up . Hope is the only reason why humankind still prevails on earth. Since modern medical procedures were unable to show any effect on my grandfather, we decided to believe in a miracle instead. That was the reason why we decided to travel back to Sagarnath, and meet Nepalbajay ( Man who used natural and traditional healing methods contrary to modern medical science). Only if I knew about the fact that I was travelling with my grandmother for the very last time, I would have hugged her the entire time.

My Grandfather was a very influential person, not only amongst his blood-bonded relatives but also amongst the people around him in the society. As soon as we arrived in Sagarnath, about hundred of people welcomed us .Many with tear-drops on their eyes asking about the health of my grandfather. I had never seen my grandmother crying until that day when she laid helpless on the corridor and cried in front of the people perhaps closer to her than her own children who visited them once or twice a year. Everything in that house was painful for her. She saw memories of her husband everywhere, which she told us frequently. There was not a single day when house was empty and was not full of visitors until we stayed there. Many came by and read Veda and Puran (Holy Scripts) for the health of my grandfather. Some people even stayed throughout the night ,awake and volunteered in guarding the house ,realising the fact that my grandmother was alone and the person whom we all loved was not there.

It might sound a little bit exaggerated for most of the readers , but when we arrived there ,even our domestic animals had tears on their eyes, and we all agreed to that fact. Perhaps our eyes were always full of sorrows and tears, that we saw everything around us from our own perspective. But it was unforgettable for me because I saw it with my own eyes.

Finally we got what we came for. The traditional herb man made us some sort of ointment that needed to be rubbed, which never actually worked.

We returned back to Kathmandu. The Situation couldn’t be worse. There was some sort of internal conflict because children couldn’t decide who was going to take the responsibility of their father so they decided to sent them both back to their own so called home in Sagarnath, all alone, all by themselves. I am not saying that no one went there to visit them, but they were all alone most of their times in those dark electricity less nights until my grandfather finally died and was cremated. My grandmother was traumatised by the fact that her husband no longer lived. Less than a week after her husbands death, she fell down on the corridor. It is kind of superstitious but my grandmother told her children a night ago before her downfall that her husband came to her in her dreams and asked her to come to him because he was all alone. She was taken to Kathmandu for her treatments but died after few weeks.

I never really got chance to spent most of my time with them but I am glad that I have some beautiful memories which will stay with me forever . This is my small tribute to them, may they rest in peace where ever they are .

Sagarnath Memories The First Visit

It was 1994; I can still remember how excited I was since I was finally getting chance to travel outside of Kathmandu and moreover getting chance to meet my maternal grandparents for the very first time. My mother told me that I did meet my grandparent right after my birth but that made no sense to me because of course I did not remember anything about that visit. This visit was for me the first visit with my conscious mind. My uncle Gyanendra (my mother’s youngest brother and whom we all kids loved more than other uncles because of his jokes and never ageing personality) was traveling with us. I can still remember how I felt. I felt like as if I was on the top of the world. Uncle Gyanendra never grew up. But I honestly thank god he is still the same, same up to date, a bit American perhaps but never mind.

We were traveling with the night bus (Sarlahi Express videocoach) and the trip was estimated about 10 hours from Kathmandu. This was the longest bus trip I’ve had up to that date. What could you expect more, you were travelling with Videocoach and with uncle Gyanendra. They played Raja Hindustani ( an Indian Film ). I had my eyes wide open and was so focused on the small screen of their 14 inch black and white television that not even an earthquake could distract me. My mother was already slept right next to me and I was thinking how you could even sleep when you are on Videocoach. We arrived in Mugling ( A famous junction where all the long way travel busses meet for a travel break, passengers can eat and take a bathroom break) . We ate our Bhaat, Daal and Tarkari (National food of Nepal including Rice, pulses and Vegetable). Food in Mugling was perhaps the most unhygienic food prepared by workers with zero hygienic procedures and precautions but it tasted actually better than everyday food at home.

It was perhaps 3 in the morning and I could hear my mother asking a person in front of her to close the window because it gave a strange smell outside, then my experienced traveler uncle said that we had arrived in Hariwan and the strange smell was burning fructose from Hariwan sugar Factory. In Hariwan lived one of my mother’s sisters Umadidi (didi= sister in Nepali) and we had plans to visit her sometime later that week. Up to that date I had only seen Gyanudidi, who also lived in Kathmandu. My mother has a big family. They are altogether 10 Brothers and Sisters, with everyone scattered around. Now almost everyone live in Kathmandu apart from Narendra uncle in Germany and Gyanendra uncle in Texas. I almost forgot to tell a story about a person that was just in front of my uncle. But I have to tell you first how bus windows look like in Nepal. Two people, in front and back seat on the same side have to share the same window. Theoretically both people have to agree regards closing and opening of window , otherwise there could be a heavy dispute. A person right in front of my uncle Gyanendra had a travel sickness, a fat black bloke from Tarai(South Nepal), with a big belly stuffed with digested rice from Mugling had to throw off. He opened the window and vomited but most part flew and fell right on the top of my uncle. There was a small discussion but in Nepal , it’s pretty normal.

At many places on the way I could see forest on fire. It was perhaps because of the unextinguished cigarette from wood collectors. But my uncle had his own explanation and I believed him. He said that it was Rankebhoot ( A Nepali word for Fireghosts) and not only me but my mother believed in him too. But I did a simple research few months ago and his explanations could be true though. If corpse are not buried deep enough they give off methane after some time, and the combustible nature of methane could have perhaps set the forest on fire .

We people in Nepal are very superstitious. We live every second of our life in between god and devil. We still believe in witchcraft, we still sacrifice goat, chicken and even buffalo for the fulfillment of our Bhakal(Business deal with god for the fulfillment of wishes). My mother is very superstious by the way. Whenever I felt sick, first thing that came on her mind was palmful of rice, which she touched all over my body and went outside our house and threw it away. Her explanation was that she was throwing evil force out of my body.

After traveling for about 10 hours we came to our stop at middle of nowhere. Our bus left us three infront of Fuljors jungle early at about 4,30 am and it was still pitch dark outside. Honestly speaking I was scared, we were all scared but my uncle couldn’t show his fears as he was the only official man and it couldn’t get better when my uncle told that we had to cross that jungle to come to Sagarnath, the village of my Grandparents. It was like Little Red Hoods story of crossing the jungle to come home. When I think about it now, we could have perhaps been attacked by wild animals or robbers. Anyways , we all gathered our courage and started walking. There was a small pathway in between the trees, mostly Sal (Shorea robusta), a tree found in southern Asia that is an important source of hardwood timber. And the most amazing thing about that tree was , it had a white bark and one could write his name ,stories or anything on it. I could see thousand of names on it , quotes, addresses, dates and stuffs. My uncle Gyanendra wrote his name and my name on one of the Barks. It was an amazing experience. Uncle Gyanendra always sang his way through. He sang lots of folk songs that he created spontaneously and simultaneously. His songs were most of the times funny but there had also been times when they were very rhythmic. My mother noticed that there was sand instead of soil where Sal grew. Uncle Gyanendra told that it was a scientific failure. Never understood what he meant.

After walking about forty minutes, we could finally see a road leading to the village. I could see small huts, people milking cows, getting ready to go to field to harvest their crops, it was completely a new world for me. Since we don’t get such stuffs in Kathmandu. We finally arrived in Sagarashram, the name of the home where my grandparents lived. On the entrance, an old woman was standing, she looked at me with very cruel eyes and asked what my name was. I gazed back into her with wide open innocent eyes while my saliva went back into my stomach and said gently, my name is Deep. She replied I don’t like Deeps, most of them are murderers. That’s my first introduction to Thuldidi, the helper to my grandparents. She was a thin lady, with a very cruel mouth but she was a very kind lady in her heart. I found that later on. Finally I met my grandparents for the very first time. My grandfather looked a very clean Gentleman, he had a crystal clear Daurasuruwal (traditional Nepali Dress) with Shiny leather shoes and a well fitted Nepali Hat. He called me babu (cute word for young boys), and dragged me towards him. My mother asked me to bow him. We normally consider our parents and grandparents as another symbol of Vishnu(God). My grandfather loved young kids a lot that could be felt from his voice. Although I never met him I already loved him from the very first time I saw him. My grandmother was just the opposite. Perhaps she spend all her life raising ten children of her own, she did not show much of the interest in me, which I found quite normal. She had a very strict tone on her voice, she never went to school and was house wife her entire life.

We had two cows , an aggressive buffalo and 3 goats of our own, that was actually the coolest thing in my entire life. I could watch my grandfather milking these beasts all day long. We did not have electricity at night. We lit up candles like early 18^th century Europe all over our house or handmade kerosene lights (Tukibatti). I was scared at night, because we used to hear strange noises at the back of our house, it was always pitch dark with no electricity and no one had courage to go and look. My grandfather always sat on the wooden bench, placed on the corridor of our home, this time he dragged me and told me, there is nothing such as a ghost, it’s your brain. I couldn’t understand him then but he was right. He gave me a strange example. There was a Peepal Tree infront of our home and he showed me shadow of its branches reflected by full moon moving tru and fro on the ground and told me sometimes people get scared while walking in the night and perhaps get nervous breakdown ,feeling being followed by someone at night, like when you walk, movement of shadow gives a strange feeling as if you are being followed but it’s a tree branch after all and a simple reflection. It’s all your brain. He always comforted me. He had an old Radio, which ran through Batteries where he used to hear BBC late at night.

Caste system always prevailed and still prevails in most part of Nepal. ( Brahmins were/ are considered as a high caste and class of people where kami damai are/ were considered as a lower caste of people . There was a family living right infront of our home who were kami , and helped most of the time on our harvesting activities were never touched and they were not allowed to enter inside our home. I, myself as a kid found it very disturbing. I remember once entering their home and my grandmother was furious on me. She washed me with gold-water(as a sign of purity regain) for like 3 times before I could enter inside my home and thuldidi(the helper) told everyone this kid is going to bring insanity to the family. As I was very fond of kites, I used to make my own kites with old news papers, bamboo sticks and as glue I used mashed rice and flew kite at the back of our home My mother hated it, I don’t know why.

Later that week we went to meet my mother’s older sister who lived in Hariwan. There I met Sailendra Daju for the first time. He is younger son from my Aunt and a very cool dude. As a welcome treatment he cut a chicken and we had a very tasty chicken meal. They had lycee trees at the back of their home with lots of lychees. Shailendra daju climbed up the trees and we brought back some lychees to Sagarnath later that day.

The days went by so quickly and it was time for us to return to Kathmandu. We planned returning through Bayalbas(A small town west of Sagarnath), It was hot as Sahara and my cunning uncle brought me Chanachatpat( An Indian snack ) where he added extra chillies to see my face. I took like a tablespoon, and I could no longer open my mouth . My mother was furious on him but o well he was the youngest kid in the family and was always excused. With no electricity around, there was no fridge and coca cola was like a tea. Theoretically I could have been taken to hospital . Our bus did not come that evening, so we had to return back to Sagarnath again. I was kind of happy because I already missed my grandparents as they did. As we came closer to home, my heart was joyous. I could see them both from far away, alone in corridor, I couldn’t stop myself from running to meet them again.