S.J.

I listened to him talk about me and my brother. He remembered our names even after twelve years. The amazing thing was that he recounted our problems and reassurance he had given my mother. Munching on a samosa Fr. recounted his days at the old school and how he loved teaching all those students.

On our visits to the cobblers hut in the school, we sometimes noticed his huge black shoes. They seemed huge at that time -- well he seemed a giant to us, kids. He still is a giant of man. Having lived in the country ever since the 60's, he has witnessed more changes in my country than I could imagine. His students have gone to establish themselves as leaders of the country in different professions. And in this context I would have loved to have had him as a teacher in his younger days. Then I could now walk on his side, dwarfed by his legacy.

I admired his acquired taste of all Nepali foods, specially the preference for momos from a particular restaurant in the Jawalakhel area. But he still had roots in America and as I watched he washed down the samosa with a cold beer.