A Christmas Story

Early morning, we would jump out of bed, me and my brother, and run to the Christmas tree. A small pine tree in a flowerpot decorated with lights and handcrafted ornaments.

There's gifts under the tree and... and... and... a cake…chocolate cake to be precise. How could the day be any better! Innocent happiness radiates from us as we stand in front of the tree, clutching our gifts and eyeing the cake.

We stand there ecstatic as our grandfather tells us Santa came and left the cake for us. We’re so excited about the prospect that we may have seen him. Never mind that this is Nepal, a predominantly Hindu nation. Never mind that there isn’t any snow. Never mind that we have never seen a reindeer. Never mind that we’re not even Christian.

Maybe it’s us going to a Jesuit school. Maybe it’s mom going to a Convent school. Maybe it’s dad having lived in the UK under the British Army. Maybe it’s because both my grandparents have been influenced by their career in the British Army.

Whatever the reason, it makes no difference to a child. It’s another day of receiving gifts and being pampered.

Our mum tells us to wash up. Unwillingly we go outside with a mug of warm water to brush our teeth. Hurry.. hurry.. hurry… spit…(grin at each other)… swill…spit…(grin again)…rinse…wash…wipe…and run inside. Mum brings us a cup of hot milk and a slice of the cake. We take a bite, a sip and start unwrapping, excited at the prospect of what we lies inside. Our sisters are there watching us open the gifts. We both receive some chocolates, a comic and a hot-wheels car for each of us. They’re small inexpensive gifts but the size of the gifts does not matter. It’s just the idea of receiving something unexpected that makes a difference. We take our food and gifts back to bed and spend the day reading and playing.

It was only much later that I learned the story behind Christmas. But it’s not a religious ritual to me. Just like Dashain, it has pleasant memories that are reminscent of simpler times, when you thought everything was just the best. Christmas is a day in cold weather surrounded by people with warm hearts. Thank you, our grandparents, parents and sisters for making our Christmas so memorable.

As the year comes to an end, some of us lie disappointed, seeking solace in the company of other similar souls. Others sit, proud of our achievement and look forward to starting a family. Still others are stuck in the same groove, trying hard to change the rhythm, but being thrust back into the same routine. To all my family, friends, enemies and frenemies, I would like to wish a Merry Christmas and the best for the New Year.

Paper Weight

I fly.

Yes I take up to the sky and glide amongst it. I dance with the strongest winds and flirt with the possibility of being torn apart. But only with you I fly, without you I can never be so graceful. If these lines were cut, I would come down - albeit slowly gliding to a crowd of gleeful scavengers. Then I would not know my fate. Would I ever fly again?

Till today, I lay hung up like all the rest. Not knowing what my fate would be. Who would be my master? Who would pay for me? Who would string me up? Would they know how to take care of me? It was frightful, the whole waiting game. Watching everyone as they passed along. Some throwing second glances and sone not even bothering to look. Yet, I hung there and waited.

As fate would have me, you picked me. You were beaming as you paid for me and carefully carried me over to your house. Exuberence, joyous, brimming with childish enthusiasm. You ran up with me and I was worried. You seemed brash and I was worried if you would be able to keep me aloft?

I watched with a mixed feeling as you measured out the string. I felt like Papillon jumping into the ocean, not knowing whether I would come crashing down or I would finally taste freedom. You strung me up with precision, and it felt good. I felt snug and secure. You lay me on the ground and gave a little tug.

Anxious and fearful.

A little more purposeful tug and the breeze lifts me. A little more tug and a little more airflow and I am up. I needn’t have worried. I was free. Moments later I was soaring. Up, up and up. Into the skies. I am kite and I feel free. I see everyone, I see everything, and I see everywhere.

I am far, but I’m still connected with you. I feel the wind getting stronger. It’s trying to blow me away, but I feel the string. I feel you holding me and I feel safe. I don’t mind the wind, it’s only trying to take me higher. But there are other dangers up here. The birds may tear me, the other kites may cut the string, the line may break. But I trust you. I trust that you’ll feel the strain . I needn’t worry. I know you’ll reel me in when the time is right. When the sun starts setting and darkness comes, you’ll reel me in and I’ll be home again.

Big Fish in Big Pond

"Ding dong.”

Door opens.

"Namaste Uncle, Namaste Auntie," you greet with your hands joined.

Auntie responds, “Namaste Babu.”

Uncle responds by offering a handshake instead. You reach out your hand, feeling foolish and grinning.

You look around at everyone and it’s like you’re in a different world. After living by yourself, this whole family living seems so alien. You wander along, maybe there’s a familiar face in the crowd. None. Everyone seems so old, like a generation of people you had not seen. It feels like being Peter Pan among Captain Hook’s crew.

You sit at a table and try to strike up a conversation but can’t find any ice breakers. There’s a bunch of kids running around and of all the things, you say “baccha haru lai ta kasto ramailo hai” to the 50+ person sitting next to you.  Wow, even small talk is different now.

Twiddle you thumbs, drink some beer, all the while thinking of some topic you may have in common. Maybe you can ask him what he does here. But wait that may be offensive or you may sound too inquisitive. Maybe you can ask them about their children. Naah. How about the 49'ers? Considering the grey hairs, I don't think that would lead anywhere. Twiddle some more. Drink some more.

A man comes and makes himself comfortable in the next chair. Confidently and authoritatively he asks, “Bhai ayeko kati bhayo?”.

“8 barsa”, you answer sounding as stolid as you can. “Ani tapaiko?”

“Ye, 30 barsa bhayo”.

Okay, guess it’s time to listen now. Every now and then you put your 2 cents in and people listen, but you get the feeling they’re not taking you seriously.

“Ani, bhai ko umer kati bhayo?”

“28.”

“La, tyaso bhaye ta biha garne umer bhayecha.  Yesso yata ko keti samatera bihe garnu.”

“Ka,” (momentary pause to decide whether to call him dai or uncle, then you say neither) “gf le marihalcha ni.”

Everyone responds with a laughter and you feel lighter.

“Ding, dong.”

The doors are opened and another group of people walk in, a younger group. Last among them is someone you know, an old friend. Yay!

You finish up the conversation and head out to the younger group.

“Hi!, haven’t seen you for a long time.”

“Oh my god! Hello. How've you been?”

Introductions about and you’re feeling at ease now. It’s a generation you can identify with. Catching up, talking about the job market, how their college years were, and Ocean City.

Breaking Brittle

Winter in Minnesota brings snow, lots of it. There's so much more than just snow though, there is soft flaky snow that feels like the heavens sprinkled icing sugar to give us a sweet taste of what lies underneath. Then comes the heavier sticky snow that you can form into small balls and playfully throw at your girlfriend, as she looks at you with those teasing horror-filled cute eyes. Those couple of feet of snow that you frolic around in like a little child.

Then comes a sunny and warm day melting the snow and making a mess of the beautiful landscape. There's puddles everywhere and you have to be careful that the cars zipping past don't splash those slushy dirty water onto you. It's all warm with blue skies until the night freezes the melted water and the next day you step out of your house. Still in a sleepy mood you carelessly take a step out and slip on the ice. (curses). You lie on your back. (more curses). Your feet are in a weird position and you pray that your laptop has survived the fall, but of course there's no time to open it and check it. So you pick up yourself (more curses) and walk on to your classes.

These were my seven seasons of winter in Minnesota, until now. This is a more enjoyable winter because I've found another playful form of ice. It had always slipped me, until now. Maybe it's this winter where we've had days of lots of snow and then nothing (global warming anyone???). But the ice is so much fun this year around.

I step on the ice and they break so easy. Maybe its the freezing-dry season we're having. But the ice is cracked like large transparent crackers. One step on them and like rippled chips they break into little pieces. I return everyday from college playing with them on my way back. One step here, another here, and see how they break, like car windows, into little pieces.

*She is irritated. She glares at me and commands me to stop. I step on one last one and walk along with her. Controlling my urge to whisk my feet along the others as I pass them. She is satisfied that finally I'm acting like an adult, but secretly only I know the truth.

I'm just saving the rest for another day.

(alt ending)

She is irritated. She glares at me and commands me to stop. I step on one last one and walk along with her. Controlling my urge to whisk my feet along the others as I pass them. She is satisfied that finally I'm acting like an adult, walking with dignity the two of us like a boring couple, just trudging along the snow. Then with an impish smile, she skips to my side and brushes her feet along the little icicles on the snow piles.