Amber: Kathmandu Revisited Disclaimer: I don't mean to add grace and meaning to this story. Simply my muddling! Kathmandu Airport, my journey starts from here, but in reverse direction. After an absence of many years I entered Kathmandu like a sleepwalker. In my case, it was death that drew me back to the city where I'd been born and raised. Kathmandu had become distant and forgotten, like my memories of having lived in the city. The earth smell of mud mingled with my memories.A faint drop fell.Was I crying for the dead or because I was, strangely, still only at the beginning of my life after all these years? Or was it because I've come to the end of my life's journey?My tears subsided. I wiped my nose. Many relatives and people I know had died during my self imposed exile. Coming from a highly dysfunctional family, I stayed away from their radioactive emotions- negative and postive. I never returned home, never had to. Men and friends filled the void, food filled that emptiness, traveling killed the thirst and strangers satisfied the urges to confide in. I'd created my own world where all the elements of umbilical needs were present. I was happy to be away, far far away. I had cheated. I was declined love.I moved on.I won't explain this for the fear that I would be disliked. More humane and resonable he was. You know how in certain situations reasonable people immediately sense that love without hope is simply hopeless, and understanding the limit of illogical realms of the heart , make a quick end of it by politiely declaring. A colorful personality of my beloved has already escaped me and I no longer remember him. I folded up the memories like a french pastry. That's the kind of good woman I am.With growing panic, I tried desperately to remember him, only to realize that despite love, a face long not seen finally fades. -------------------------- My house is so dark that each time I visit, I feel as if I've entered a Tomb. It has been well preserved as a concentration camp in Nuremburg. No new additions, no deletions, no renovations. It smelled of old age, sleep and death. I entered my room, moving farther into the darkness. My mother glared accusingly into my eyes, as if all this was my fault. I'm not fond of these silences in the house.No anger or wrath could be seen on her face, just the misfortune and the sorrow.There was also an enchanting and intelligent side to her. My heart quickened, for a moment I felt like saying something.But I was afraid that she would have a sudden tantrum. I immediately pulled myself together. I was in the midst of folding, unfolding and putting away the clothes. Something came to my mind.You understand what I'm talking about. At the same time the other part was concentrating on what was transpiring between my auntand my mother in the other room. "Where were you?" I asked my three year old son. He quickly understood that I wasn't really angry. His hands had a foul smell. Pressing his head to my bosom I gave him a long hug. In a short time, he warmed up, relaxing like a kitten. " So, you love your Mamu quite a lot, don't you?" " Ummmmmmmmmmm" " Is that a yes?" " Yes" " More than anybody else?" " Yes" I never understood why mothers ask that question. But after entering Kathmandu, the tendency had increased. Probably, because I was no longer the only woman in his life. His dark eyes, narrow nose and broad shoulders resembles me more than his father. Occassionally, I feel guilty that I wasn't able to pass on to my child his father's high, broad forehead. ' go on then play swordsman with Bir." I gazed at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the boys' plastic swords striking each other, as |I struggle to quell the fear and anxiety that was brewing within me.I'd already been written off. A death had brought back the ghost in my family. I padded down the stairs like a disabled cat in order to escape any attention of last surviving Dinosaurs and Trinosaurs conference being held downstairs. Contd... Last edited: 02-Aug-10 11:10 AM