Thank you Bua

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..