One fine afternoon, over the tea
sips, my friend Sunib declared us as a 'victimized generation'. "We fit
nowhere," he sighed. I couldn't have agreed more.
Born in an isolated village called Rukum,
brought up in Kathmandu - the capital city of Nepal; If not me who could have
understood the feelings of 'not belonging'?
In my village, I was the first girl
to go to school. When Maoist Revolution began I also became the first one to
head for Kathmandu to continue my education. However, in Kathmandu, I became as
helpless as a lost puppy. I couldn't understand the language, culture nor city
life. No matter how much I tried to adjust, it just didn't feel like 'home'. They
also saw the differences. I always became the 'village girl' – an outsider.
But, after a decade when I was
finally able to visit my birthplace, I was treated more like a guest. I had
forgotten most of my ethnic language, had no idea about the different beliefs
and rituals. I felt like an outsider there as well.
I feel like I am standing on a
junction: there is a nostalgic road to Rukum, comfort zone in Kathmandu and the
road to Western World. I get scared and confused. But, granny's distant voice
calls, 'I am saving your roots. Come back when you have explored the world to
your heart's content.' I embrace her
voice.
[NOTE: it was written for a class assignment during my journalism Diploma in ACJ, Chennai in 2011]
