Untitled

“A long time ago, maybe a few decades from the present day, mother and father crossed the border and settled in the Terai. They must have had a difficult time sustaining life in Sitamarhi. They talk about an unknown disease that killed all of their animals and how they were forced to leave in search of a better life for their children. You see, mother and father beat cotton for a living all their lives. In Nepal, father continued with his trade. He walked the villages with his Dhunai beating cotton and making blankets and pillows and brought home whatever he earned. I started helping him when I was little, maybe after mother’s back became rusty and she could not assist father. Though they spent their lives in dangerous poverty and hardship, they raised me and my siblings. And it is only because they have taught me this skill, I am able to raise my family. And I am happy that the blankets and pillows that I make keep the villagers warm and comfortable during cold nights. Walking upwards is never easy but that is where I am needed the most as winters are severe. You see, I am still walking in my father’s path, still following the old routes that the old man trudged. Now he is 72 and my mother 70. They no longer work but when I return home after every few months, I sit by their side and tell them stories from the old places that they had once walked. The old man listens to every word I share with a watery veil in his eyes. Maybe through my stories, he momentarily relives his youth. Maybe through my experiences, he remembers his days of beating cotton in the sunny courtyards of the mountain homes.”