US, Home and Sabari

When I was kid, we had a chapter in our course book 'Ghar Chhodne Raat'. The little guy is leaving home for school or something to a different city. He is trying to sleep but he can't. Then the monologue begins. He talks and argues with himself.  That is having butterfly in the stomach, uneasy experience of anxiety and restless syndromes. During my final days in Nepal, all family members became sad and I became sad. Is it not strange that in our culture we cry when people leave home to go somewhere either for school or in marriage or just for visiting. I had never left home. I did my schooling and attended college from home. I had never been out and I hated going to relatives to spend the holidays. Women were not even allowed in airport to say Good bye on my departure day because they would make a dramatic crying scene. Even men cry when they say good bye. 'Good bye'ing is sad and melancholic. Leaving home is too.

Asian culture is very distinct in people loving their homes, relatives, even animals too deeply sometime. I remember of my room and my bed, of my old book shelf and outdated books therein. I miss it. My room was also a sitting room. Guest would come  and see all the medals hanging on the wall and ask my parents 'hey is your babu in Army?" What good those medals do when in need? Poverty is the biggest disease of all. That is my sermon, I declare. The smell of poverty is horrible. In fact, our culture is strange. We like to portray ourselves as poor, sorry people. We save money, and live a life of insufficiency. We buy land and houses but we eat and dress poor. And we quote Devkota " Garib bhanchhau tara sukhako ma jhai dhani...". In contrary, happiness is very essential for a good life.

To Devkota and all his quoters , I tell you my sermon: poverty and happiness does not blend that well, I assure you. Living with 'sukha' in poverty is not  easy but not impossible either. I was grown up in the old school philosophy  of saving for children and calling yourself poor which would be continued through generations. That is probably why I can survive in extremity with their ideology deep somewhere in my subconscious, rather than I live by my own philosophy. I live in bed bug infected cheap apartment,  still sleep on the floor, I drive 88 Buick Century and I don't have  excessive clothes although I can afford most of all the decent  luxury there is. My upbringing has made me flexible and grateful. For people in Nepal, they probably picture me living in 100th suite of then' world trade center.

I have a different home. It feels like home here now. My heart is here not because of the luxury but because of homely circumstances of ease, to enjoy freedom from commune burdens, freedom to express myself, to overcome new challenges, to run away from terrorist and gangsters in Nepal. It has a profound meaning to say that I am going home. I don't really know of I am leaving home or going home. And the night before the leaving, I ask myself, self-evaluate my decisions, look back at hard days and say- 'well, that was not so bad'. Surely God help those who help themselves. At least there are no more surprises in my GOD's department. But I will have many surprises when I go back. Needless to say, many are waiting not for me but for gifts of  I-macs , IPhones, cameras which I do not own myself. There will be people who will make commenting on my "fatness" and receding hair, often asking if I have a foreign wife yet? Why I didn't bring my white wife with me', It is really funny. Perhaps not because when I came I was probably the first one to leave home for US in that town and now each family in the neighborhood has at least a son in US, UK, Australia and Europe. I am not so fond of neighbors who intrude my privacy and nosy friends who want to know how much I make, over there. I really miss my grandmother who teaches me indifference. She is old, and tired and only her wish is to die peacefully. But even she, once in a while wants to see me married with a white girl. She is lovely, like a newborn, truly innocent.

I think of a woman who used to come to our home, almost every day. They call her 'Sabari' after Ramayan. Sabari was an uneducated, low-caste women who tasted the fruit before she feed to Lord Ram, a symbol for love and devotion. All the lower caste people were not allowed and my family did not even let them touch our house but because of her devotion and spirituality, I guess she was  authorized and could come up to our 'Baranda'. I could not possibly invite her inside or even touch her. A poor soul... I loved her and had pity on her. She was poor. We gave her food and money sometime. She would come and ask for me, and ask how I am doing. I believe her humility, love, devotion and caring was not just from her conscious self itself but perhaps from the abject poverty and rejection she was living in. Although I felt worse that I could not go against the prevailing rule, culture and system of the society to hug and invite her inside, I prayed that this stupid, arrogance, superiority of one men over another, class and caste system, poverty, and shame and of guilt of being born in low caste should disappear from the face of the world. I prayed every day that although I had no say, no power, no authority to enforce or even speak against such sins of human, sooner or later, time will change everything and all injustice and stupidity as such will go away from my home and country. I feel sad. There is poverty and there are blind beliefs, superstitions, dark heritages, funny rituals and brainwashed people. When mixed together, it makes a worst of poison to destroy humanity. I hope Sabari is still alive and visits our home often.

Home! I am coming.