Published on JAN 06 in The Kathmandu Post Daily
She is going to the Mantri’s house. God has listened to us, finally. With her going to Kathmandu, our dreams will be fulfilled buda,” Ama had said to Buwa that day.
These days, I want to ask Aama—if she would ever desire to listen or if she could only listen: What was your sapana like Aama? I scream: It wasn’t my fault—I never dared change your beautiful sapana Aama…but can you hear me…it was just not me…
“She is coming here! Go away. Go away you bitch…”
“Give me some food, the thing inside is kicking, give us something to eat,” I demand.
They call me a bitch, they throw stones at me. One hit me right on my back. I fall down and cry out loud, give them some gaali and then curse at them slowly and silently. Ah! This stomach hurts. If I could sleep for sometime right here I would sleep soundly. But they call me a bitch.
“Go away! Don’t ever show your face again,” they shout.
I shut my ears and try to run away…Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! My belly, I run. I run. Ah! Hurts. Ammmmaaaa it hurts. Ammmaaaaaa it hurts, hurts, it hurts. Ammmmaaaaa….
“Don’t shout you bitch! You are disturbing us—get away from the road. You’re occupying it as if it’s yours. You will be kicked if you show up here again,” someone yells.
But then, what wrong have I done? This growing belly is not a choice, but an obligation. A severe, painful and disgusting obligation.
“Climb here, don’t leave my hand chori.” We are going to Kathmandu to the Mantri’s house today.
“Buwa, this box is moving, I am squeezed Buwa, I am dizzy Buwa, I am dizzy.”
“This is your first time in a bus chori. When you get to Kathmandu, you will have to ride many more of these.”
It was a bus…moving towards an unknown destination…clearing my little footprints…the wheels turned continuously—Kathmandu was waiting for us. Continue reading