It was the day after Holi, 1982, 8:30 in the evening. I was thirteen. I was sitting alone in the dining room of my apartment in the heart of the city of Pokhara. For more than eight hours that day i performed and supervised difficult work. My eyes were ready for its daily work, that they did in night. Soon i dozed off with my head on my arm on the table. I woke up suddenly when i heard the doorbell ring. Then i heard screaming and shouting of my mum. It was near about 9:30. I rolled down. It was raining lightly as i walked down the steps to the floor. A few cold women stood at their doorways, grimly watching me go. A very small boy waved good bye, and his mother boxed his ears. It was a beautiful April night. I fell surprised some how and be quite as a hatred boy. I was welcomed as a prince, My heart leaps of up. I was out of the village, and over the bridge, and up the hill toward steeplehat wood. It was quite mome
e the mountain sheep, a small, unhappy public house with a thatched roof like a wig with ring worm. The landlord stood at the door to welcome me, simpering like a wolf. He was a long, lean, black fanged man with a greased love curl and pouncing eyes. It was surprised, on the way journey, through the simmering moonsplashed dark, mum began to cook her supper on a primus stove in the middle of the charabance. She coughed herself blue in the smoke. We were sat down to take the food but the different was absent of roof, pots and lovely hand of mum which where hang for me. Her eyes were saying something with the flying moon. I guessed that she was remembering to my dad. But my hands were empty and mouth had no words to explain. We walked slowly in the dark pine shadows, moving a little from side to side in her steps with the balanced heaviness and lightness of a pendulum in a mum clock. She carried a thin, small cane made from an umbrella and with this she kept tapping the frozen earth in front of her reason was an old with her head tied in a red rag. This made a grave and persistent noise in the still air, that seemed meditative, like the chirping of a solitary little bird. I was not real son, i had been adopted and nurtured as a real son. In that meditative world i was forget to ask about my real world also her love were banned to ask. But i was selfish. She worked straight ahead. Her eyes were blue with age. Her skin had a patter all its own of numberless branching wrinkles and as through a whole little tree stood in the middle of her forehead, but a golden color ran underneath, and the two knobs of her cheeks were illuminated by a yellow burning under the dark. Under the red ray her hair came down on her neck in the frailest of ringlets, still black, and with an odor like copper. Now and then there was a quivering in the thicket. She said,"out of my way, all you foxes, owls, beetles, jack rabbit, coons, and wild animals keep the big wild hogs out of my path. Don't let none of those come running my direction. I got a longs way. I was surprised again. We were crossed pine mountain and oak mountain and again pine mountain. We were fell tired and our skin demanded for rest. But we were disagree. I was my first experience might be mum. Now and then we reached in desert but it was quite different desert there cottage and huts where with wind and dust. Least plants were found but there was source of water. mum cried and said,"we were got our destination. Again i was surprised and got the season of journey that we migrates. I knew that our Town was in disaster. Now i am thirty and i am respected every where. But i can't forget of my mum gift. Here every things is changed and my heart leaps of up.
e the mountain sheep, a small, unhappy public house with a thatched roof like a wig with ring worm. The landlord stood at the door to welcome me, simpering like a wolf. He was a long, lean, black fanged man with a greased love curl and pouncing eyes. It was surprised, on the way journey, through the simmering moonsplashed dark, mum began to cook her supper on a primus stove in the middle of the charabance. She coughed herself blue in the smoke. We were sat down to take the food but the different was absent of roof, pots and lovely hand of mum which where hang for me. Her eyes were saying something with the flying moon. I guessed that she was remembering to my dad. But my hands were empty and mouth had no words to explain. We walked slowly in the dark pine shadows, moving a little from side to side in her steps with the balanced heaviness and lightness of a pendulum in a mum clock. She carried a thin, small cane made from an umbrella and with this she kept tapping the frozen earth in front of her reason was an old with her head tied in a red rag. This made a grave and persistent noise in the still air, that seemed meditative, like the chirping of a solitary little bird. I was not real son, i had been adopted and nurtured as a real son. In that meditative world i was forget to ask about my real world also her love were banned to ask. But i was selfish. She worked straight ahead. Her eyes were blue with age. Her skin had a patter all its own of numberless branching wrinkles and as through a whole little tree stood in the middle of her forehead, but a golden color ran underneath, and the two knobs of her cheeks were illuminated by a yellow burning under the dark. Under the red ray her hair came down on her neck in the frailest of ringlets, still black, and with an odor like copper. Now and then there was a quivering in the thicket. She said,"out of my way, all you foxes, owls, beetles, jack rabbit, coons, and wild animals keep the big wild hogs out of my path. Don't let none of those come running my direction. I got a longs way. I was surprised again. We were crossed pine mountain and oak mountain and again pine mountain. We were fell tired and our skin demanded for rest. But we were disagree. I was my first experience might be mum. Now and then we reached in desert but it was quite different desert there cottage and huts where with wind and dust. Least plants were found but there was source of water. mum cried and said,"we were got our destination. Again i was surprised and got the season of journey that we migrates. I knew that our Town was in disaster. Now i am thirty and i am respected every where. But i can't forget of my mum gift. Here every things is changed and my heart leaps of up.
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