The Only Photograph

"I do not remember the faces of my mother and father. The photo on their citizenship was torn and black and white. I do not remember so much from my childhood, only faint memories of living with...

Published06 June 2019

Reading Time 3 mins

Author Stories of Nepal

Location Nepal

"I do not remember the faces of my mother and father. The photo on their citizenship was torn and black and white. I do not remember so much from my childhood, only faint memories of living with grandmother who I feel loved me dearly. I remember an uncle who brought me in Kathmandu and I started living in a house as a maid. If you ask me how long I struggled there, please forgive me, I am unable to tell you the number of years. Could have been 15, could have been 20. But it felt like an eternity. I would wash the clothes and rewash them because I was told I did not wash them properly. I would wash dishes and rewash them again because I was told they were not rinsed. I would cook and they would complain about how bad a servant I was and how terrible the food was. I would be ordered to do seven things at a single time and when there was a delay I would get humiliated. Sometimes I slept hungry. I was called a “pakhe”, a “jangali”. Slowly I started accepting that as the truth. I had no place to go, no love to receive and nothing to give. I felt I existed without meaning. My eyes were hollow as tears had long dried. When I finally managed to return home, I had a difficult time adjusting with the outside world. For so many years, I was confined inside the walls of the house and the most I saw was the shop of the milkman nearby. Life was spent fulfilling the needs of other people who ordered it. But like all rainy days come to an end, I was to see happier days. I came into contact with women with similar stories who understood me and guided me through the difficult time. They helped me receive training in sewing and weaving yarn. The more I spent time with them the more I felt a sense of belonging. Their story was my story and my story was theirs. One word uttered and everyone immediately would understand my discomfort and sprung to hold me. Today, I have reclaimed happiness. I have started to live an independent life that is free of fear. I eat what I want and I am able to pay for it. I am no more a 'pakhe'. I am no more a ‘jungali’."

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