A Journey: Not so Ordinary

Jhumlawang: My village,my destination ^^

Chennai:  Two days of continuous walk from headquarter, Musikot, had taken a toll. I was flushed and my breath was ragged. I could feel my heartbeat hammering against my rib. Both my legs were wobbling like rubber and I was drenched in cold sweat.

The steep up-hill climb looked formidable. I gulped and with all my mighty power took another step. My heart pounded, vision blurred and mouth got drier. I challenged myself to take 10 more paces. I failed; I collapsed before I made up to five. 

My father who was few more minutes ahead noticed the laborious struggle. Like superman, within seconds he was by my side. At 60, he picked me up like I was made of feather and ran in the opposite direction like crazy.

In my misery, I had failed to notice the herd of cattle running downhill, towards us!Only after each cow had passed and he had saved me from being possible victim of a stampede did my father put me down on the ground. He looked in my eyes, smiled and said, "A decade in Kathmandu has made my baby 'a city girl'." I could say nothing; my desire to reach home faster was not shared by my body. I was still struggling to stand on my feet. Looking at my pathetic condition, my father knew I’ll never be able to walk home on my own. So, he hired a man to carry me.

I never felt more embarrassed in my whole life. But the trouble with my swollen legs ended and it passed to the man who was carrying me. At seventeen, weighting 50 kg I was quite 'healthy'. So, when asked I replied with my most sincere voice -- 'just 47 kg'.

The man was all bones, sun-tanned and in his 30s. I sat on the newly made bamboo basket that he carried. He had some trouble keeping his balance and with long sigh said, "Must be at least 50 kg." I pretended not to hear. I was trying to focus on keeping myself sane. "What if he trips?" the question kept repeating in my head. But, after some time, I loved the way the snake like trail looked, the sound of birds chirping and the smell of moist-grassy jungle from the basket. I could feel and understand the rhythm of his walk. His pace differed from deep wooded forest to the sheep pastures and the mustard fields. He seemed at ease while walking through some scattered thatched roof villages on the way.

For me it was a nightmare, of course. When villagers saw the 'healthy' looking girl being carried in the basket, elders looked with concern, youths observed with curiosity and children pointed out and asked questions. It was too embarrassing to meet their eyes and hear my father explain. So, I slept in the basket like I used to do when I was a toddler.

After being carried in the basket for 5 hours we were about to reach home. I didn't want others to know about my embarrassing moments so before my village Jhumlawang was in sight, I started walking. After 15 minutes of walking, I was in my mother's arms. As we had reached the gate she had ran to me, eyes filled with tears. She had caught me in her tight bear hug. I felt her shoulder shake time and again.

"Don't cry, mom. I am home," I said.

Her shoulders started shaking more violently and all of a sudden she burst out in a fit of laughter. I guess, my hope of keeping this a secret was already burst. The news of me being carried in a basket had already spread like wild fire.

But, as Maya Angelou says "The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned," I pine for my home. No matter, how many times people ask if I will need any 'assistance or basket' before I plan my trip home, the ache for visiting home remains unabated. 

[Note: when my professor asked me to write about important event in my life, i thought of this and laughed at myself. but, this is one of the most important memories i have with my dad...^^]