From the time i have known him , he has
always been the same. He and his motorbike took my mother to
different hills and dales all around Kathmandu. I've always had the
feeling that my father could never really grow old. I still picturise
him as an active guy,very much separated from all social burdens ,
carefree, whom i could ask to take me to places, solve my problems
which i really couldnot face. We were pretty much all dependant on
him. I could count plenty of things in life that were impossible
without him directly or indirectly behind.
The face was full of wrinkles, he was
thin, he gained white hairs and moustache. My heart broke into
pieces. I was looking at the same guy whom i pictured as an active
man, who never wanted to grow old. He was tired and exhausted as he
had recently recovered from clot in Brainvessel, which Doctors
regarded as a first stage of Brainhaemorrahge. I had the feeling that
i could never see him again. I was happy and sad at the same time
because my father had really changed.
As a kid, i was pretty much scared of
the wedding music and the music which were played during the local
festivals. I always gained the feeling that something different was
happening, something different than the day before. It scared me.
During the local jatra(festival) , where natives carried goddess of
this town to the nearby town to organise her marriage with the god of
that next town, and brought her back home the next day during the
night with music, my father wanted me to see the occasion. I still
remember how i hid behind him, late in the middle of night , rubbing
my eyes , where he grabbed my hand, and how i silently peek a boo'd
from his back. And he smiled looking at me below(Although i could
count only very few occasions where he really smiled ). I always
gained the feeling of security with him on my back.
He talked very little. Since my
Sister, her husband and two kids started living in New Jersy , it
has been hard for him. He loved those two kids more than anything
else in life. Although he never admitted it, i could see it in every
move he made. He went to the cupboard where all those toys from these
kids were kept , he picked one of those rubbed them a bit and put
them back, but he never told a thing.
He normally woke up early in the
morning, went to the Kathmandu Asan Bazar, where local vendors sold
those fresh green vegetables and fruits. He bought plenty in the
morning and brought jeri swari( a form of local sweet) each time he
came back. As kids, we were very excited and waited for Bua(father in
Nepali)s arrival. I remember looking down from the balcony of my old
home and telling my mother who was in Kitchen, bua is back. I wished
i could turn back time to live the moments again..
